


The snow is snowing and the wind is blowing (but I can weather the storm)

by Cliotheproclaimer



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Holidays, Romance, Snowed In, Strangers to Lovers, get ready to suspend your disbelief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliotheproclaimer/pseuds/Cliotheproclaimer
Summary: So perhaps she should close. Yes, that would probably be for the best. Close for the day, head to Euston and sneak on an earlier train. But just as Pippa was having the thought, she heard the door open and the bell ring, and the sound of a woman’s voice.‘Could I get something to drink?’‘Actually we’re clo-‘ But as Pippa turned around, it was all she could do to keep her mouth from falling open.The Woman.The actual Woman, in the flesh, standing awkwardly in front of the counter with her long black coat dripping onto the floor. And good grief, she was somehow even more beautiful once one got close, even with her expression twisted in an annoyed grimace.***Hicsqueak Coffee shop AU - at Christmas.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Comments: 261
Kudos: 271
Collections: Hicsqueak Christmas Coffee Challenge





	1. Baby it's cold outside

**Author's Note:**

> So, what can I say. I was revising for exams, minding my own business when I see a perfectly innocuous coffee shop AU prompt and it totally possesses me. This is far too late for Christmas or any sort of winter challenge (blame the revision) but I hope it's enjoyed regardless. 
> 
> Many thanks to Nike_SGA and twtd for the prompt 
> 
> https://twtd11.tumblr.com/post/189778231645/hicsqueak-christmas-coffee-challege

Pippa wiped down the espresso machine with a damp cloth, watching with satisfaction as the flecks of coffee grounds and splashed-milk stains that had accumulated there over the day gradually receded, until the stainless steel twinkled with the reflection of tinsel and pink Christmas lights. Grinning at the sight, Pippa grabbed the broom, turned up the radio as loud as it would go, and began to sweep behind the counter enthusiastically.

_“Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow_.” Ella Fitzgerald crooned through the speaker, and Pippa began to move in time to the dreamy piano.

‘_But till then we’ll have to muddle through somehow’ _she sang, running the broom over the floor with one hand and spraying the counter with the other. Whilst _Pentangle’s _was still technically open, (Pippa had had a theory that she could get the custom of a few last minute Christmas-breakfast shoppers) her two teenage employees had long been sent home, and with all the things that needed cleaning and the accounts that needed doing before she closed up at seven o’clock, Pippa thought she might as well get a head start.

Still, it didn’t matter. The train to Manchester didn’t leave until eight, and having already guessed she might not have time to get the tube back to her flat on the other side of London, Pippa’s suitcase was waiting for her behind the counter.

Pippa couldn’t help but smile to herself at the thought of going back up North for Christmas. And over the phone her mother had sounded pleased at the thought, if a little harassed. Mrs Pentangle’s generosity over Christmas knew very few bounds, and having only told her mother she would be coming home a mere two months before Christmas, Pippa was sleeping on the floor of the living room with her two teenage cousins.

All the same, it still felt as though she was going home, even after nearly ten years of living in London. Eight years of a gorgeous, impersonal glass dolls’ house of a flat in the city and almost two in a poky little flat on the outskirts of West London as she scrimped and saved every penny to start up the bakery.

Oh, but it had all been worth it. Almost a year of painstaking alterations to recipes and meetings with contractors and mastering a coffee machine that seemed as though it could have fallen straight off a spaceship and _Pentangle’s_ wasn’t just open, it was thriving. Pippa was good at this, she was _good _at running this sort of business. She knew what people wanted to eat, and she knew _how _people wanted to eat. In _Pentangle’s, _the lighting was warm but not ostentatiously coppery. It had an airy, open feel but armchairs and coffee tables were arranged artfully to give a feeling of intimacy. There were fresh flowers on tables and low bookshelves stacked with odd titles and at peak time delicious smells from the kitchen would waft into the café and out into the street and make even the most committed of dieters sniff the air wistfully and wonder if one bite of her famous mocha cronuts would hurt.

It had only been three months, but she already had a firm client-base of locals, baby-group mums and students. All she needed was a good culture-trip review to make her bakery a tourist choice in Bloomsbury. Even the neighbours had been keen to welcome her into the fold.

All except one, it would seem.

Pippa looked out through the front of the shop, peering into the shop opposite. The bookshop still had its lights on, for what she assumed must be some sort of Christmas event.

It was an odd, sociable sort of street in that way, the kind of place Pippa hadn’t realised existed in London anymore, where somehow children still played and independent shops thrived, and old ladies stopped outside the grocer’s for a chat. And there was no doubt that the old bookshop was its beating heart. It had a beautiful old Edwardian shopfront, with artistic, painstakingly curated displays. Pippa could see children inside, running about with bits of tinsel and building forts out of stacked books.

But the flat above had its lights out, and The Woman was nowhere to be seen – only her cat lolled by the window, licking its paws daintily.

She had started calling her _The Woman _in her head. Pippa would see her sometime through her window, looking for her keys or reading a book or brushing her long, dark hair like some sort of medieval princess looking down at the world below from a tower.

Pippa had hoped perhaps that She would pop into the bakery – who _wouldn’t _pop into a bakery across the road, even if just to grab a cup of coffee on the way to work in the morning. But each time Pippa had seen her walk through the street She had barely spared a glance in the shop’s direction. Eventually, Pippa had been overcome by curiosity and ventured into the bookshop itself, wondering if it belonged to her reclusive neighbour – but it turned out to be run by a delightfully eccentric old opera singer and her husband, who exchanged knowing looks when Pippa casually brought up The Woman.

‘Oh no, nothing to do with the business.’ The opera singer, Miss Bat, had explained. ‘She rents one of the flats above the shop from us. She’s rather prickly I’m afraid, you might struggle to get to know her.’

Three months into running the bakery, and Pippa had still yet to do much more than see The Woman on the opposite side of the street. A couple of times she thought she might try and engage her in conversation, but each time her courage had failed her at the last minute.

And if she was quite honest, Pippa took pride in her personability, and was mildly offended that she wasn’t considered worthy of getting to know by a woman who looked as though her wardrobe had been handpicked by French existentialists.

The song came to an end, the last few melancholic chords fading into the air, and Pippa surveyed the shop with a sigh. There wasn’t much else to do other than more cleaning, and she doubted she would get any more customers that night. The sky was dark and stormy, and it had grown so cold that the London rain had become sleet, pelting any commuters unfortunate enough to still be about. At least in her hometown there would be snow. Deep, beautiful snow, not the thin grey flakes that passed for the stuff here.

So perhaps she should close. Yes, that would probably be for the best. Close for the day, head to Euston and sneak on an earlier train.

But just as Pippa was having the thought, she heard the door open and the bell ring, and the sound of a woman’s voice.

‘Could I get something to drink?’

‘Actually we’re clo-‘ But as Pippa turned around, it was all she could do to keep her mouth from falling open.

The Woman.

The actual Woman, in the flesh, standing awkwardly in front of the counter with her long black coat dripping onto the floor. And good grief, she was somehow even more beautiful once one got close, even with her expression twisted into an annoyed grimace.

‘Are you really? The sign outside says you’re open till half-past six today.’ Pippa straightened her back. Part of her was itching to bustle her out of the shop with a take-away cup of tea.

But it was another, weaker, more curious part that answered.

‘Well, technically I was closing, yes. But I suppose there’s no harm in making you a cup of tea, so long as you don’t mind me hoovering around you.’

The woman relaxed, and she offered a tense smile, slipping off her dripping coat and draping it on the back of a barstool.

‘Earl Grey, thank you.’ Pippa turned around to make her the drink and couldn’t resist sneaking another glance at her. She had her hair drawn back in a tight bun, and somehow despite emerging from one of the most miserable evenings Pippa could remember, had perfectly applied, unsmudged lipstick. Having brought a paperback copy of _Jane Eyre _out of her bag, she had quickly become engrossed, and didn’t seem to notice Pippa watching her until…

‘Ouch!’ Pippa snatched her hand back from the hot water tap of the coffee machine, and The Woman looked up in surprise.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Fine.’ Pippa ground out; the slight pain inconsequential in comparison to the sheer embarrassment of appearing amateurish in front of The Woman of all people. ‘Just scalded myself, that’s all.’ The Woman put her book down, brow creased.

‘Is it serious?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Let me see.’ Cautiously, Pippa held out her hand. The Woman held it briefly in her own, examining the reddened skin. ‘Run it under the cold tap. Burns can be nastier than they appear.’ She looked up, and for a moment Pippa forgot how to breathe, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze for one, two, three seconds.

And then Pippa remembered where she was standing. She withdrew, passing The Woman her cup of tea, before obeying her advice and running her hand under the tap.

‘Are you a doctor?’ The question seemed to startle The Woman.

‘No, just – I’ve seen a lot of people scald themselves.’

‘So, you have a lot of people making cups of tea for you, then?’

‘Something like that.’ She replied dryly.

Pippa grinned, and having numbed her hand sufficiently with the cold water, pulled a bottle of spray and a cloth from beneath the counter, and began to work her way around the bakery, wiping tables.

‘I’m Pippa, by the way.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Pippa looked up in surprise.

‘You know? How?’ Perhaps she had not been the only one making inquiries.

‘You’re a favourite topic of Gwen’s at the moment. She’s a fan of yours.’ Pippa’s smile grew broader.

‘Yes, she mentioned you too. I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you around.’ The Woman looked faintly embarrassed.

‘I’m not really a fan of sweet things.’ She said unconvincingly, her cheeks turning a little pink. ‘Or of sweet, frothed coffees, come to that.’

‘Ah.’ Pippa decided not to press the matter further, busying herself with cleaning. ‘You know, when Gwen was talking about you, I don’t think she ever mentioned your name.’ The Woman paused and blew on her tea, before answering.

‘I’m Hecate. Hecate Hardbroom.’ Pippa stopped what she was doing and stared.

‘Hecate Hardbroom?’

‘Yes?’ The Woman – or Hecate rather, as Pippa supposed she would now know her – answered defensively. Pippa giggled in delight.

‘You know, your parents couldn't have named you better if they’d tried. _Hecate Hardbroom_.’

‘There was talk of calling me Desdemona when I was a baby, but even my father felt that was a little too on the nose.’ Hecate said, drily. ‘But what about you, Pippa Pentangle? Your name might have been plucked from a fairytale.’

‘Oh, don’t.’ Pippa said, sighing. ‘I used to get so badly teased for it at school – and I was a tiny thing as well, so they’d call me _Pipsqueak.’ _

‘Pipsqueak.’ Hecate drawled, as if rolling the name around on her tongue. ‘Do you know, I can see that suiting you as well as your name does now.’

‘Oh, go away.’ Pippa retorted, swatting half-heartedly in her customer’s direction with a cloth.

‘If only I could.’ Hecate sipped at her tea; her brow furrowed. ‘There are currently about twenty small children, all of whom have consumed a great deal more sugar than is sensible, who have invaded the bookshop for a carol concert of all things. I’m shut out from my own home, unless I brave the screaming hordes.’ She looked so gloomy at the thought that Pippa burst out into laughter.

‘Small children? Is that all it takes to defeat Hecate Hardbroom?’

‘Oh, I’m not easily defeated. But small children, opera and netball will at least have me running for cover.’ Pippa only laughed harder.

They kept up the conversation, Hecate’s book forgotten, whilst Pippa hoovered under armchairs and coffee tables, wiped surfaces and put together a box to take to the local foodbank, which happened to be on the way to the station. Despite her initial reserve, Hecate proved to be fascinating company. They managed to sustain livening, enjoyable and often amusing disagreement about topics ranging from the Brontës to travel through London, and once or twice Pippa managed to coax the corners of Hecate’s lips upwards into a smile, whilst she had to pause cleaning every so often when a particularly wry remark of Hecate’s would have her in a fit of laughter.

By the time Pippa had put the hoover away and was washing up Hecate’s mug, they had somehow wandered over to Christmas music.

‘But they’re just good songs.’ Pippa countered, hastily running a tea towel over Hecate’s mug. ‘Nice to sing along to, make you get in the Christmas spirit. All you need is a good playlist.’

‘That depends if the Christmas spirit is in fact something you wish to voluntarily get yourself into.’ Hecate pointed out, slightly morosely. Pippa chuckled.

‘I see. So, you’re a Scrooge, are you?’ Hecate inclined her head.

‘A Scrooge with no money, and no staunch faith in capitalism. But it does seem to me absurd that at a time when sea levels are rising and people are finding themselves in increasing poverty, Christmas serves as an excuse to get each other more tat to end up in landfill, to eat terrible food and yell out homophobic slurs under the guise of singing along to Christmas songs.’

Pippa sighed.

‘Well put it like that and the whole thing does seem indefensible.’ She admitted, coming out from the back-of-house and leaning over the counter, so that she was as close to Hecate as if they had been sitting across from each other at a table in the café. ‘But Christmas can be about more than that, if we let it be. It can be about thinking about the people you love, and organising a gathering with them so that you can remember each other together, and sitting down for a meal that you’ve all worked at cooking together and feeling happy just in the nearness of all these people around you.’

‘Is that what your Christmases are like?’ Hecate asked, an almost wistful note to her voice. Pippa sighed.

‘Sort of. Except my mother is never very good at confining her Christmases, and recently they have felt so big and so impersonal that I’ve barely had the chance to get any enjoyment from the actual day itself – and I’m always relegated to sleeping on the floor, so I always finish my holiday with back pain. But it is home – and it is my mother, and my aunts, and my granny - even if there are a lot of additional individuals I would rather do without.’

‘So, you’re going home for Christmas?’ Pippa nodded.

‘Yeah, to Stockport, near Manchester.

Hecate blinked.

‘I – sorry, Manchester?’

‘Yes.’ Pippa said, a little defensively. ‘I know I’m cutting it a bit fine, but Euston’s only around the corner, and my train doesn’t leave till eight, so if I leave now...’

‘You haven’t heard? They’ve closed Manchester train station.’

‘What?’ Pippa’s head snapped up. ‘They can’t have.’

‘The snow is too deep – I hear they have stopped all of the trains, and what’s more the coach drivers are refusing to go out.’ Pippa flung her cloth down onto the counter.

‘Oh please no.’ She moaned, running to where she had left her phone and hoping beyond hope this was a joke in poor taste. But no. Upon turning on her phone there were no fewer than three news alerts and twenty missed calls from her mother.

‘Ugh.’ Pippa sniffed, trying to hide the tears that were rapidly welling in her eyes. ‘This is ridiculous. A few flakes of snow and the entire bloody country shuts down. What am I supposed to do?’ Hecate looked uncomfortable.

‘Do you live nearby?’ Pippa slumped against the counter, biting her lip to stop it from wobbling.

‘I live in the absolute fucking sticks of West London, the last train will have left by the time I close up, and even if I do manage to get on a bus I can expect to be home, by myself, at about three o’clock on Christmas bloody morning. Fabulous.’

Having vocalised her woes and even sworn a little, Pippa felt even more miserable, and two tears rolled down her cheeks. And all that after she had just spent the last five minutes rhapsodising about the importance of Christmas, her own one had been ruined in the space of about five seconds.

Hecate looked even more uncomfortable if possible, and she stirred at her tea, not meeting Pippa’s eyes.

‘You shouldn’t do that.’ She said, quietly. Pippa made a small, frustrated sound.

‘Well what should I do then?’ Hecate stirred her tea a little longer, and then looked up, her expression inscrutable.

‘You can’t possibly get to West London at a reasonable hour. In fact, I wonder whether you would be able to get a bus at all. You would however be welcome to sleep on my sofa – and then of course, you may attempt to get a taxi tomorrow, if you want to leave.’

Pippa gaped at her, too shocked to continue crying, even.

‘Excuse me?’ Hecate went pink.

‘No, ignore me. It was a stupid suggestion.’ Pippa opened her mouth, then closed it again, walking back to where she had been standing before behind the counter.

‘No.’ Pippa assured, looking her up and down in disbelief. ‘I – it’s not stupid, definitely not. I just need a bit of time to think.’

‘Right.’ Hecate nodded.

‘It’s just…well, I know we’re neighbours, but we’re practically strangers. I mean, you’ve spent three months avoiding me, and now you’re offering me your sofa?’

‘I - well, I only thought…’ Hecate trailed off. ‘It is Christmas, I suppose; for all I was badmouthing the holiday just now, I don’t think you should spend it on a bus back to West London or sleeping in the back of your bakery.’ Pippa was silent, forehead puckered in a frown, briefly distracted as she wondered how Hecate could have guessed with such accuracy what her plan ‘b’ was. Seeing her hesitation, Hecate continued, quietly.

‘And I suppose one could consider this a – an apology, for being so unneighbourly all these months. You must admit it’s not a bad idea. It saves you what would be a very miserable journey tonight.’

‘But I couldn’t intrude like that.’ Pippa argued back. ‘You must have plans.’ Hecate shook her head.

‘No, no plans. I was barely planning to mark the event, this year.’ She looked at Pippa a little anxiously. ‘Please don’t feel obliged to take me up on my offer. But equally, please don’t refuse out of some misguided sensitivity to me, because it will only be myself and my cat in the flat.’

Pippa opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She wondered how long it had been since Hecate Hardbroom had started spending Christmases in such a solitary manner.

All of a sudden, social embarrassment seemed to fall away, and she was conscious of only two things – a desire not to be alone on Christmas day, and a desire that this woman, whom she had only just met, should not spend a lonely Christmas by herself.

‘I…’ she spoke slowly. ‘I mean, if you’re honest about it not being too much bother, then that would be fine. Wonderful, actually.’ Hecate nodded and tried to look neutral, but there was a pleased air about her.

‘Good. Sensible of you.’ Pippa smiled at her, brushing away the last of her tears with the heel of her palm, and Hecate gave a small, tentative smile back.

‘Great. My stuff’s in the back, I just have to drop the box off at the donation point, and then we can go back to yours if you like?’ As soon as she said the words Pippa blushed, realising how forward they sounded. Hecate went even pinker, but she nodded.

‘Yes, good. That sounds good. I’ll go back to the flat, ring the bell for Flat Two when you’re outside.'

* * *

Without anything else to do, Pippa closed up the shop, and she and Hecate parted ways, Hecate pulling Pippa’s hefty white suitcase.

And if Pippa felt slightly miserable walking through bitter winds and treading grey sludge at the thought of not seeing her mum that evening, by the time she had dropped off the box at the food bank and was making her way back to the bookshop, she felt a good deal more cheerful. She had spoken briefly to her mum on the phone, (briefly being the operative word; her mother had been in the middle of organising Christmas eve charades) and her mother had been practical, relaxing immediately once Pippa had informed her she wouldn’t be spending Christmas alone.

‘Do you know Pip, that is the most romantic thing I have heard in quite some time.’ Her mum had told her, over the sound of shrieking young children in the background. ‘Exactly the sort of Christmas you should be having when you’re young and single, my darling.’ Pippa had felt heat flood her cheeks.

‘Mum, it’s nothing like that. I’m not even sure she likes women.’

‘Ah, so you have thought about it.’ Ms Pentangle had pronounced triumphantly.

The rest of the conversation was equally infuriating, and after promises for Pippa to come back up as soon as the snow cleared, Pippa hung up feeling oddly relieved that she would not find herself yet again the subject of a prolonged interrogation by an unending succession of her relatives. Christmas with her mother tended to be something of an ordeal, and perhaps it would be nice not to be woken at half-five by children opening stockings, or to be forced to participate in great Christmas ‘games’ that felt less like entertainment and more like endurance tests.

Having said that, she had no clue what a Christmas eve and Christmas morning with the stranger she had met all of an hour ago, particularly given her neighbour’s disinclination towards the event. Perhaps Hecate Hardbroom was the sort of woman who enjoyed smoothie bowls for Christmas lunch, and thought a five-kilometre run the best way to start off the day.

But something about their conversation in Pippa’s cafe told her that Hecate was made of different stuff.

The wind had grown even stronger, and Pippa had to fight against it, even without the box of baked goods. The sleet had turned to snow, and Pippa’s teeth chattered with the cold as she picked her way through the masses of carol singers and charity workers and drunks who were yelling out ‘merry Christmases’ as though they were extras on _A Christmas Carol_. Eventually though, she arrived outside the bookshop.

The bakery had been so busy the past few weeks, Pippa hadn’t had a chance to get a closer look at the bookshop. The front of the shop really was beautiful, with holly nestled among the books, and Christmas silhouettes carefully painted on the windowpanes. Shivering with the cold and anticipation, Pippa stepped closer, fumbling around the door until she found the bell with _Flat 2 _written below it.

Moments passed, just enough time for Pippa to wonder whether she would ever see her suitcase again, and then the wooden door creaked open slowly to reveal Hecate’s face in the dim light.

‘Hi.’ Pippa breathed, trying not to look too relieved.

‘Hi.’ Hecate murmured back, moving to one side. ‘Come in, I’m sure you’re frozen.’ Pippa stepped forward out of the cold, almost tripping on the uneven step down onto the shop floor. In the darkness, Pippa could see that Hecate had let half of her hair down, so that great lengths of it fell down her back, whilst her trench coat had been swapped for a black longline cardigan.

‘I think the light-bulb in the shop has blown.’ Hecate said, pulling out her phone and switching on the torch. ‘Mind how you go, Gwen can be quite forgetful about re-shelving books.’ Pippa followed her through the shop, admiring tall oak shelves and inhaling the old, musty smell. It was a good thing Hecate had warned her, else she would have ended up falling head over heels over a pile of German folk tales.

‘I always think there’s something so magical in a shop like this after dark.’ Pippa said, close behind Hecate as they went through a doorway and began to climb the stairs to the flats upstairs. ‘When I was little, I thought all the characters were waiting to come out of their books and have adventures.’ Hecate paused at the top of the staircase, not turning around.

‘So did I.’ She said, huskily. ‘Except I used to imagine that I would shrink to their size and disappear into the books to have adventures with them.’ Then seemingly shaking herself, Hecate turned the handle and let them into her flat.

Pippa wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, stepping into Hecate’s living room. There were a few carefully pruned houseplants, a framed poster of an exhibition that had been on that summer at the Tate Modern and a patterned rug on the floor, but otherwise not much in the way of personal effects.

All in all it would have seemed a fairly spartan room, had it not been for the bookshelves, the quantity of which created a wallpaper-like effect. On a single shelf Pippa could make out gardening volumes and travel guides and books on quantum physics. Hecate didn’t seem to own a television, but there was a record player in the corner, with a stack of records beneath it, and a dark cat dozed almost camouflaged on the sofa.

Pippa turned around to Hecate and smiled.

‘I like your flat.’ Hecate raised an eyebrow.

‘Not sure there’s much to like.’ She said drily, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

‘Yes please.’ Pippa shrugged off her coat.

‘Wine?’

‘Mmm, sounds lovely. Would you mind if I got changed out of my work clothes?’

‘The bathroom’s just down the hall.’

The bathroom was no more revealing of her mysterious neighbour than her living room, but Pippa pulled off her cold, wet things with relief and rummaged through her suitcase for something to wear. She had a glittery dress that she had been saving for Christmas Eve, but truth be told she was relieved not to have to force herself into. Instead, she pulled a Christmas jumper over her head, slipped on a pair of pyjama bottoms that she thought at a pinch could pass for a pair of lounge trousers and went to join Hecate, whom she could hear in the living room.

When she entered, padding softly, Hecate was leaning against the windowsill, looking out onto the street at where the snow was falling thicker and faster than ever. Not wishing to disturb her host, Pippa turned her attention to the bookshelf. To her surprise, its contents were not as varied as she had thought. Three shelves seemed to be taken up with recipe books, several in foreign languages and all yellowed with age and use.

‘You like cooking?’ Pippa asked, running her finger along the spines of the books. Hecate started and turned around, her expression inscrutable. She walked to the coffee table and picked up a glass of wine, which she handed to Pippa.

‘I live for it. I was a food writer, before I moved here.’

‘Really?’ Pippa asked, interested. ‘Where did you write?’

‘Here and there. _The Guardian _mostly, _The Sunday Times _occasionally. I had a book or two, even.’ Pippa took a sip of wine, mulling this new piece of information over. ‘Would you like to put a record on? The heating is useless, but I can put the gas fire on.’

‘Ooh, go on then.’

Hecate crossed the room and knelt to fiddle with the ancient-looking gas fire, whilst Pippa picked up the pile of records and began to sort through them.

‘You really wrote for _The Guardian_?’

‘Oh yes’

‘I’m afraid your name doesn’t ring any bells.’ Pippa said, apologetically. ‘Which is funny – I read the food section religiously.’ The gas sputtered and started into a flickering glow of warmth, and Hecate got up, displaced the drowsy cat from the sofa and took a seat, tucking her feet beneath her.

‘I wrote under a pseudonym.’ Hecate said, almost inaudibly, leaning back and looking into her wine glass, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. Pippa frowned at her, squinted and then let out a small gasp.

‘You’re not…you’re not Joy Constance.’ Hecate tilted her head in acknowledgment. ‘But you’re…you’re _brilliant_. You are, you’re really, really wonderful.’ Pippa stopped then, frowning. ‘Wait, so you’re not writing anymore?’ Hecate shook her head.

‘No.’ Pippa waited for more, but none seemed to be forthcoming. Hecate only sipped at her wine and gazed out of the window once more.

Feeling as though she was broaching a sore topic, Pippa at last found an album she knew and set down the needle. Low sounds of a tenor saxophone began to drift through the room, and Hecate smiled to herself.

‘One of my favourites.’

‘Mine too.’ Pippa agreed, going to take a seat on an armchair across the room. ‘Although very old-fashioned. But I suppose that’s like you – like your cooking. Traditional.’ Hecate pulled a face.

‘Traditional. I have to say I don’t care for that word – it implies a sort of slavish devotion to roast dinners and steak and kidney pies. But I must say I fail to see why everything today must be covered in enough gold leaf to make it inedible, or why chefs must disassemble things no one asked to be disassembled – and then charge twenty pounds more a head for these ridiculous plates, of which there’s barely enough to feed a five year old.’

‘I know.’ Pippa smiled, leaning forward from where she was sat. ‘You wrote about it in your column. Your writing meant a lot to me, you know.’

Hecate arched an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt, and Pippa felt as though she had to continue. ‘I was working this awful, boring job in the city, making banks and businesses richer and never doing anything that I actually found interesting, or enjoyed doing. And every weekend, when I felt as though I might actually go mad with it all, you would have written a new recipe, and your writing would be funny and concise and no-nonsense, and the food would taste _amazing_, and every time I made one of your recipes I would just feel a bit more alive, and a bit more myself.

And then one day I started baking, and then I was baking every day, and I knew, I just _knew _that if I didn’t do what I actually loved and wanted do with my life then it wouldn't matter how much money I had or how lovely my flat was or how many parties I went to, I would always be miserable. And so, about two years ago I blew up my life, sold my flat, quit my job and started a pastry course.’

Pippa finished, out of breath, and realised that Hecate had been watching her intently the entire time. ‘I’m sorry. That was a bit intense, I just – I’ll miss your columns, that’s all.’

‘You should write your own.’ Hecate’s voice was low, and a little thick. ‘Baking is far more popular with readers than traditional cooking is now, I’m sure you could if you wanted to.’

‘Oh, I do want to – I do. If the bakery is a success, I’m sure I could, too. But even then, I would still miss your columns. I could never master cooking the way you have.’

Hecate remained silent, and Pippa became suddenly worried that she had said something wrong. ‘But at least we’ve finally found something we have in common.’

‘Two things.’ Hecate’s reply, though quiet, was almost instant. ‘I…_blew up _my life too, as you put it. Left my partner, left my job, stopped writing. Except now it’s almost the end of the year, and I still haven’t decided what I want to do next.’ She made a frustrated sound, gesturing with her wine glass. ‘And I can’t go back to how things were. It’s just not possible. But at the same time, I can’t see a way forward.’

‘But there will be a way forward.’ Pippa said, gently. ‘It’s the only way things can go, you know. Take it from me. And I know – I just _know_ that Joy Constance isn’t the kind of person who can watch life pass her by too long. She just wouldn’t stand for it.’ Hecate looked up at Pippa, holding her gaze, her eyes glassy with tears Pippa hadn’t noticed welling.

‘I’m not sure I am Joy anymore.’

‘But whoever you are, you will still be you.’ Pippa said firmly. ‘This bit, it passes, and you’ll still be here, at the end of it, even if Joy isn’t.’ Pippa bit her lip, wondering if she had overstepped the mark. But Hecate sniffed, and nodded, resolutely blinking back anything that might have dared to well up in her eyes.

‘Well, perhaps.’

* * *

As the evening turned into night, and the music swelled and faded with each song, their conversation never seemed to dry, though it was punctuated by occasional lulls whilst they listened to a record, or Hecate went to refill their wine glasses, or Hecate would say or do something so utterly beguiling that Pippa would simply stare at her, smiling foolishly. Although perhaps that had something to do with the wine, and the fact that Joy Constance was across the room from her.

Or perhaps just that Hecate Hardbroom was across the room from her, long dark hair falling over her shoulders as she sipped at her wine, her dark eyes at turns thoughtful or surprised or merry, even as the rest of her face remained impassive.

When Pippa recounted a story about an angry middle-aged woman storming in with a face mask and a baguette, Hecate laughed, and Pippa broke off just to listen to it sounding with all the beauty of a neglected musical instrument. 

‘She didn’t actually curtsey.’ Hecate bit her lip in an apparent effort to stop her laughter .

‘She did!’ Pippa chortled. ‘And she went out of the shop with a baguette in each hand like they were walking sticks, and – oh my goodness, look at the snow!’

Pippa set down her wine glass and crossed the room to peer out of the window, kneeling on the sofa and rubbing at the condensation on the window with her hand. ‘The whole street’s covered in it! I’ve never known snow settle in London like this.’

‘A white Christmas.’ Hecate murmured, as Pippa settled back on the sofa next to her. ‘Of all the ridiculous things.’ Pippa giggled, and resisted the temptation to tap her new companion on the nose.

‘Come on, just give in to it. Tomorrow the city will look like a Victorian Christmas card, and then even you will have to get into the spirit of the day.’

‘Hmmm.’ Hecate pronounced, craning her long neck to look out of the window. Pippa tried not to stare at her throat, or notice how as she strained, the shape of her collar-bone became visible. ‘Well I suppose it is rather beautiful.’ 

‘Yes I would agree. Beautiful, forbidding, somewhat icy.’ Pippa teased. All of a sudden the wine and the happiness of the evening and the ludicrous romance of the situation seemed to fill her with a strange, urgent kind of boldness.

Hecate raised an eyebrow and took another sip of her drink, looking amused.

‘Your point?’ Pippa shrugged, playfully.

‘Just that it's rather like you, I suppose.’

Hecate spluttered a little, setting down her glass with pink cheeks and the hint of a smile.

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have given you so much wine.’

‘Why?’ Pippa looked inquisitively through her eyelashes at her neighbour, who rolled her eyes.

‘Because you’re flirting.’

‘Is that such a bad thing?’ She tried to look as suave as one could possibly look in a Christmas jumper that had a giant reindeer with a three-dimensional sparkling red nose plastered on the front.

‘It is when you’re doing it so badly.’ Pippa pouted.

‘How am I doing it badly?’ Hecate finished her glass and met Pippa’s eyes.

‘Well, usually people are a little more subtle, whereas you seem content to sit back in your seat and list facts about me.’

‘Aha.’ Pippa pounced, leaning forward to wave her finger in Hecate’s face. ‘So, you admit they are facts.’

‘Well…’ Pippa noted with smug satisfaction that Hecate’s colour was deepening. ‘Well, anyway, the simile surely fails if you try and draw any more comparisons, unless you think I am cold and wet and a hazard to public health.’

‘I bet you couldn’t do half as well.’ Pippa challenged. Hecate raised an eyebrow.

‘What, list facts about you?’

‘Not as easy as it looks.’

‘Oh? Well, you are a somewhat skilled baker.’

‘Indisputable.’

‘And you are relentlessly cheery.’

‘Of course.’

‘And I suppose in a certain light one could call you beautiful.’

‘_In a certain light?_’ Pippa feigned outrage, attempting to kick Hecate, who dodged skilfully. ‘Those were rubbish – they were practically insulting.’

‘It’s called subtlety.’

‘It’s called…’ Pippa paused, and she narrowed her eyes. ‘It’s called flirting back.’ That was a challenge, and no mistake. Hecate looked first at the floor, then at a distant point, and then finally at Pippa.

‘Perhaps.’ Hecate tilted her head, a wicked expression stealing itself over her face. ‘Or perhaps if I was really flirting back, you wouldn’t notice at first.’

She leaned closer to Pippa, her movements as stealthy as a cat’s. ‘Perhaps it would be a slow, simmering thing. A murmured conversation, a hand on your arm.’

Hecate’s hand now rested on the back of the sofa. Pippa could almost feel her knuckles grazing her shoulder, as her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Until suddenly we would be talking, and the air would be different between us. And you would know it, and feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and when you would go to look at me…’

Hecate paused. She was so close now that the ends of her hair tickled Pippa’s forearm. Pippa’s own eyes were blown wide, and she drunk up Hecate with them, biting at her lip lest her heavier breathing become too obvious. She felt as though she might be melting onto the floor like candle wax.

‘Yes, Hecate?’ Pippa whispered, not wanting to break the spell. But something in Hecate clouded over. She leant back, unfolding her legs and clearing her throat.

‘Anyway. As I said, I think we’ve both had enough to drink, even on Christmas eve.’ She was brisk, not meeting Pippa’s eye – but her cheeks were still flushed.

Pippa sat up, regained her breath and did her best to recover from the moment just passed.

‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ She eventually agreed. ‘But perhaps we could resume tomorrow, when we’re both a little less...merry?’

Hecate stiffened, and then relaxed, as the implication of Pippa’s words washed over her.

‘If you like.’ She murmured, and then Pippa relaxed as well, smiling with encouragement. From what she had heard about Hecate, she seemed like the kind who needed to take things a little slower than they had just been going, regardless of how effectively she had just seduced Pippa.

Besides, after a week of fourteen-hour days at the bakery trying to keep up with demand in the Christmas season, she could feel exhaustion creeping in, which coupled with the wine was making the room buzz and her eyes droop.

As if reading Pippa’s mind, Hecate got to her feet, checking her watch. ‘Perhaps I should make up your bed on the sofa, then, it’s past ten o’clock.’

Pippa looked at the clock in undisguised amazement. How could time have possibly run that quickly?

‘Yeah, it’s been a long day.’ She yawned. ‘And there’s nothing like going to bed early on Christmas eve to make Christmas day come quicker. Not that I’m expecting a stocking here.’ Hecate rolled her eyes again, but it was obvious her heart wasn’t in it.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, before bed?’ Pippa stopped, considered her for a moment.

‘You don’t have any Nesquik, do you?’

The effect was instantaneous. If Pippa wasn’t mistaken, Hecate’s lip actually curled.

‘_Nesquik_. The day that I keep that disgusting powder in the house is the day that I lose all respect for myself as a cook.’ Hecate strode out of the room and reappeared a few seconds later with a large slab of dark chocolate and a determined look about her.

‘Come on. As it’s Christmas Eve, I’ll show you what real hot chocolate tastes like – you won’t forget it in a hurry.’

Lying nestled in blankets on Hecate’s sofa later that night, Pippa thought that Hecate was right, she wouldn’t forget how proper hot chocolate tasted. But perhaps what would lodge further in her memory was the way her arm had brushed with Hecate’s as they had reached together for sugar and cinnamon. The look in Hecate’s eyes as she held out a chocolate covered spoon for Pippa to taste from.

The feeling of Hecate’s cheek against Pippa’s lips after they had wished each other good night.

Pippa closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and waited for Christmas morning.


	2. Dreaming of a White Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this was meant to be two chapters, it grew uncontrollably while I was procrastinating writing my dissertation. Still, here is some more Christmas Hicsqueak content for your enjoyment, and chapter 3 will come much quicker than chapter 2. (Also this is my first multi-chapter since A Cold Spell can you believe)

It had been so long since she had woken up without the blare of her alarm clock that for a few, blissful minutes Pippa allowed herself to indulge in the feeling of drifting slowly awake, her eyes closed in contentment beneath dark, comforting blankets. Considering Hecate’s sofa was not the most comfortable of beds, she awoke surprisingly warm and only a little stiff, and would have been content to roll over and give herself another half an hour’s sleep were it not for the feeling of something heavy pressing down on her ribcage.

‘What?’ She mumbled sleepily, opening one slow eye. She found herself looking directly into the amber gaze of an enormous black cat, who was regarding her inquisitively from where it had settled on her torso. ‘Oh, hello. Nice to finally make your acquaintance.’ The feline, who bore closer resemblance to an adolescent panther than a domestic cat, meowed politely back, settling herself more comfortably on Pippa’s chest.

‘Oof.’ Pippa groaned. Straining her muscles, she managed to sit up, and the cat slid gracefully from her chest to her lap. Pippa buried her fingers in her strange companion’s fur, content to sit sleepily under her blankets and peer out of the window.

It was a surreal sight. The street was blanketed in snow, it covered roofs and cars, and from Hecate’s window Pippa could see all the way to where the bathing ponds had frozen over. A slow, fizzy feeling of warm anticipation settled in her stomach, and she grinned down at the cat.

‘It’s so quiet.’ She told it, rubbing its cheeks with her thumbs. ‘I’ve never heard London this quiet before. It feels like someone’s put cotton wool in my ears.’ Pippa looked out of the window again. She could see right into her shop from across the street, right to where for the last three months she had baked and smiled and mopped from six o’clock in the morning to nine o’clock at night almost without pause, with barely a day off. But the pale pink shopfront, with paper snowflakes stuck to its windows by one of her teenage baristas and the flowers hand-painted on the walls stood so cheerfully and so prettily in the snow that Pippa couldn’t help but feel some of her exhaustion melt away at the sight of it.

‘It really was all worth it.’ She murmured. Smiling to herself, Pippa swung her legs over the side of the sofa, depositing the cat on the floor.

‘Come on.’ She told the panther. ‘Let’s put the kettle on.’

There wasn’t a peep from her hostess – but then perhaps most adults wouldn’t rise on Christmas day before seven o’clock in the morning. With that thought, she retrieved her phone from where she had left it charging beside the sofa.

Her mother answered on the second ring.

‘Darling! Happy Christmas my lovely.’

‘Happy Christmas Mama. Did you –‘

‘Yes, it was all very nice. So, tell me more about your mystery lady. How was last night? And please, don’t spare my blushes.’

‘_Mum._’ Pippa felt her cheeks get pinker, and she took a quick glance over her shoulder. Shaking her head, she walked through the flat and into the kitchen. ‘Nothing like that happened.’

Her mother let out a sigh of disappointment.

‘Oh honestly, Pip. Youth is wasted on the young.’

‘Mum, I’m thirty-three.’

‘And yet I’m willing to bet you danced around this woman like a nervous nineteen-year old.’

Pippa rolled her eyes, removing her phone from her ear and gesturing at it violently. Returning it to her ear, her mother was still mid-spiel.

‘And you’re working so hard now, and setting up a business – if you’re not careful your window to meet someone will close, and…’

‘Mmm.’ Pippa shifted the phone to her shoulder and opened the fridge, scanning its contents. It was as meticulously stocked and arranged as anything Pippa had seen in a professional kitchen; she recognised the order of dairy products from the latest HSE guidelines.

‘Oh, for goodness sake Pippa, are you listening to me?’

‘Mum would you get off my back? It’s Christmas bloody day, I’m single, and I have more important things to worry about. I’m trying to make breakfast.’ That hadn’t been her intention, but she pulled eggs and milk out of the fridge, it struck her that it would be a nice thing to do. Hecate didn’t seem like the type have people cooking her breakfast. And Pippa hadn’t baked anything just for herself in forever.

‘Ahh.’ Her mother said knowingly. Pippa counted about five seconds, trying as hard as she could not to humour her, before she couldn’t contain herself any longer.

‘What? What, Mum?’

‘The next stage. Making her breakfast. Seducing her through _l’arte de cuisine_.’

Pippa rolled her eyes again, sparing another panicked glance to check that Hecate Hardbroom was not in fact awake and listening to every word.

‘Okay, firstly that’s revolting, secondly I’m making muffins, (she had not in fact decided that she was making muffins but as she leant into her impassioned list she thought that Christmas-morning-muffins would in fact be ideal) and thirdly, trust me she is not the type to be impressed by a bit of baking. She-’

But Pippa paused. It struck her that it had been quite an intimate thing for Hecate to share; her secret identity. ‘She’s very good at cooking.’

‘Oh? Did she cook for you, then?’ Pippa smiled to herself, retrieving the mixing bowl from where they had left it on the drying rack the night before.

‘We made hot chocolate. Properly, on the stove.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Her mother said, in such exaggeratedly knowing tones that Pippa had to remove the phone from her ear once more and bang it against her head three times before returning it.

‘What, mother. What could you possibly see?’

‘You made hot chocolate together. I can practically hear you smiling, making her breakfast now. Today, you’ll go on a Christmas walk in the snow, you’ll see snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes…’

‘Mum, is that what you think lesbian dating is? A Christina Rossetti poem?’ 

‘My point stands. You _like _this woman.’ Pippa, to her chagrin, could feel herself getting redder. This was getting beyond the pale.

‘Look – you’re breaking up. I’ll call you later.’

‘Philippa Pentangle, if you dare hang up on me…’

‘Love you! Have a good Christmas, give my love to Granny.’ And turning a deaf ear to her mother’s protests, Pippa ended the call, and put her phone on silent for good measure.

‘Don’t you ‘Philippa’ me.’ She told her phone sternly, which was now flashing with missed calls. And shaking herself, she began to whisk butter and sugar. ‘And don’t you start either.’ She admonished the cat with her whisk, who looked up enigmatically at her, amber eyes blinking slowly.

As she made up the batter, the natural assurance she had discovered when she first began baking began to dim, somewhat. This was _Joy Constance_ she was baking for. All the comments Joy had made about trends in baking - _granular; sickeningly-sweet; Instagram-fodder - _circled around her brain and settled unpleasantly on her shoulders. She wondered whether Hecate would hold more back in her criticism.

‘Probably not.’ She murmured to herself. ‘Ah well. Confidence, Pippa.’

But on reflection, she was perhaps a little more careful than she might have been. More meticulous as she zested oranges and grated nutmeg; tasting before she added vanilla, cinnamon, the tiniest pinch of salt. In a wild moment, she substituted half the flour for ground almonds. (Hecate’s kitchen really was a dream; everything was exactly where you imagined it would be.) After all, it was Christmas morning. She saw no sign of a turkey in Hecate’s fridge – at least muffins might make her feel a bit Christmassy.

After a bit of hunting, she found Hecate’s muffin tin and spooned the mixture evenly across. Before any self-doubt could creep in, she shoved the tin in the oven, shut the door quickly and sprang back, setting a half-hour timer on her phone.

‘It’s done.’ She told the cat, who was watching with interest from the floor. ‘For better or for worse. Time to get judged by Joy Constance.’

Pippa wasn’t usually a wash-up-as-she-went-along kind of person, but years of reading Joy’s columns and one night and a bit of socialising with Hecate told her that she probably was. Spying a radio on the windowsill, she tuned it to her favourite station, filled the sink with hot soapy water and got to work, humming along to the sound of George Michael. As she rinsed her mixing bowl, she peered out of the window in an attempt to orient herself.

The view was not much help. Two parallel rows of identical Georgian townhouses; a uniform mass of light-coloured brick and cream paint. Almost like a row of cream cakes, Pippa thought, if patisserie had tasteful Greco-Roman features.

Ah, but there was the local garden square almost directly below, distinguishable in the snow only by the stark iron fence and the small child crouched in the snow, looking at something intently.

Wait.

Pippa frowned, setting the last wooden spoon on the drying-up rack and peering down. As far as she could tell, there were no responsible accompanying adults for miles around, and the child appeared to be wearing a purple dressing gown rather than anything that could be considered sensible winter-wear. Feeling moderately concerned that she was possibly observing a missing child, Pippa hurried out of the kitchen. She pulled her coat off Hecate’s coat rack, slipped into her trainers and stole quietly out via the fire escape.

* * *

It was _freezing. _Pippa had severely underestimated how cruelly the temperature had dropped overnight before setting out from the flat; she needed at least two more layers to survive in this sort of climate. (Growing up in the North West had been somewhat of a trial for her.)

Muttering curses under her breath, she hopped down the iron stairs, teeth chattering as she made her way across the road. From what Pippa could see, she had dark, loose hair, but the rest of her features were hidden from view as she bent over something in the snow, utterly absorbed. She didn’t seem to hear Pippa treading softly behind her.

‘Hello.’ Pippa approached her a little cautiously, half convinced the girl might spook and run off like a startled rabbit at any sudden movement. But instead Pippa was met by a gap-toothed grin as the child looked calmly up at her.

‘Hello. Merry Christmas.’ Pippa smiled back.

‘Merry Christmas. I’m Pippa.’

‘Mildred Hubble.’ Mildred stood up and proffered her had with the utmost seriousness. Pippa shook it, feeling infinitely more at ease. Clearly this child knew what she was about.

‘Well Mildred, what are you doing out here? It’s very cold.’ Mildred nodded.

‘I’m making an igloo for the snails.’ She gestured to where there was a small pile of snow on the ground. ‘It’s their school.’

‘Ah.’ Pippa crouched and had a look.

‘It’s not finished yet.’ Mildred said quickly.

‘I like it.’ Pippa told her with a grin. ‘And it’s luxury schooling for snails. What do they learn, in the igloo?’ Mildred frowned, crouching next to Pippa as she considered the question.

‘Not sure.’ She replied. ‘Maybe art?’ Pippa nodded sagely.

‘Snails are artistic insects.’ She told her small companion. ‘And it’s important to tailor your curriculum to your pupils’ interests. We should show the igloo to your mum. Where is she?’

‘She’s asleep.’ Mildred explained. ‘The rule is I’m not allowed to wake her up before eight o’clock. But that’s ages away, and it _snowed_, and it’s Christmas!’ The girl threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, and Pippa nodded sympathetically.

‘Mmm, I know. But aren’t you freezing?’

‘A bit.’ Mildred conceded, rubbing her arms with her hands. ‘But the door shut behind me and I can’t open it. And I remembered gloves, look!’ She held out her hands to Pippa, proudly. Pippa could see blue-tinged fingers sticking out of a pair of fingerless gloves that looked as though they had been handmade from old socks.

‘I’m sure she wouldn't mind.’ Pippa reasoned. ‘It’s just about – oh no, it’s seven-thirty. Well, I’m sure she won’t mind too much. Which is your house? I’ll walk you home.’

Mildred got to her feet.

‘Over there.’ She pointed. ‘It's the flat behind the bookshop.’ Pippa let out an _ah _of realisation.

‘Oh, then do you want to wait with me until your mum gets up? I’m staying with your neighbour upstairs.’

‘With Miss Hardbroom?’ Mildred asked, eyes blown wide with surprise. ‘You’re staying with HB?’ Pippa felt a sudden stab of guilt. Perhaps Hecate wouldn't appreciate her neighbour’s child knowing about her overnight visitors.

‘Umm, yes. I came to make her some muffins. As a Christmas gift. Just…spreading some Christmas cheer.’

Mildred nodded in understanding. She stood up, slipping her icy little hand into Pippa’s.

‘Okay, then yes please.’

On the walk back up to Hecate’s flat, Pippa learnt a great deal more about Mildred – that she was almost six, and that her best friends at school were called Maud and Enid, and that Hecate would occasionally babysit her when Mildred’s mother was working late.

‘She’s one of my favourites.’ Mildred informed Pippa, settling herself on a counter and happily peeling a tangerine she had extracted from her dressing gown pocket. ‘She’s the strictest, but she’s teaching me how to cook.’

‘Is she?’ Pippa asked, curious. Mildred nodded.

‘She says I’m a disgrace to the craft, but that my mirepoix is ad-e-quate.’ Mildred stressed the word with apparent pleasure. ‘Also, Miss Bat is always falling asleep, and Mr Rowan-Webb calls me tadpole. Would you like some?’

Mildred proffered a tangerine segment to Pippa, who accepted gratefully.

‘Thank you – I always think Christmas morning isn’t quite complete without an easy-peeler.’

‘How long are you going to be here?’ Mildred asked, interestedly. ‘Are you spending Christmas with HB?’ Pippa smiled at the nickname and leant against the counter where Mildred was perched.

‘Well, I think so. Hecate let me stay when I didn’t have anywhere else to go last night. I think she’s kind like that.’

‘I think so too.’ Mildred agreed. ‘And I think you should stay. Especially if you’re making her muffins. Maybe if you stay a bit longer as well, we could work on the igloo again?’

‘Maybe.’ Pippa equivocated. ‘I might have to get home though. I was supposed to be seeing my mum, but the trains got stopped by the snow.’

Before Pippa had time to feel a small pang of renewed sadness at her cancelled Christmas, her timer beeped.

Slowly, fearfully, she donned Hecate’s (black, pristine) oven gloves and opened the door. She needn’t have worried. She was met by the perfect rise of twelve golden brown domes; the kitchen flooding with the smell of orange and vanilla and spice.

Pippa resisted the urge to punch the air, and tipped out the muffins onto a wire rack she had found stacked neatly next to the muffin tins.

Mildred sniffed the air ecstatically.

‘Those are amazing.’ She said, happily. ‘It smells like _Pentangle’s _in here.’

‘Does it?’ Pippa asked, her voice a little sly as she turned to face her young guest. ‘So, you like _Pentangle’s_, then.’ Mildred’s eyes widened.

‘Like? _Pentangle’s_ is the best place on earth. They have cakes in there that look like ones in story books. And mum tells almost everyone we meet to go there.’ Pippa couldn’t help the Cheshire grin that stole over her face.

‘Does she?’ Mildred nodded.

‘She’s been telling HB to go for ages, and last time she called her a –’

‘So, I see you’ve met the local stray?’

Both Pippa and Mildred jumped at the low, amused tones. Pippa turned around. Hecate Hardbroom was surveying her kitchen, an eyebrow arched. She had donned a long black robe, but her hair was still loose and curling around her shoulders.

‘Morning HB.’ Mildred chirruped, recovering quickest. ‘Merry Christmas.’ 

‘Merry Christmas, Hecate.’ Pippa added, catching Hecate’s eye and feeling a shy, idiotic smile upturn her lips. Oh, for _goodness sake, _did she have to prove her mother right with such alacrity?

Hecate herself seemed to be struggling to formulate her next sentence a little. Her mouth moved strangely, as if unused to wrapping itself around the words.

‘Merry Christmas.’ She said eventually, with the slightly strangled syllables of someone speaking with a mouthful of toffees. ‘I have to say I did not expect to find the two of you together this morning.’

‘I got locked out.’ Mildred popped another tangerine segment in her mouth. ‘Then I met Pippa. She said I could wait in here until my mum woke up.’

‘Sorry, I hope that was okay.’ Pippa turned to Hecate. ‘She just looked very cold.’ Hecate huffed, but there was no annoyance in her tone.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it. Hard as it may be to believe, this isn’t the first time I’ve woken up to find her in my kitchen. Come on Mildred, I’m sure your mother will be awake by now.’

Mildred nodded, hopping down from the counter and pausing to give Pippa a cheerful hug.

‘Bye Pippa. Happy Christmas!’

‘Happy Christmas.’ Pippa replied, touched. ‘Hang on.’ Pippa took two muffins from the rack and pressed them into the small girl’s hands. ‘One for you and one for your mum.’

‘Come along, Mildred.’ Hecate interrupted, and Mildred skipped ahead of her, her excited, chattering thanks continuing right out into the hallway.

* * *

‘That girl is utterly incorrigible.’ Hecate shook her head as she re-entered the flat, closing the door behind her. ‘And I think she thinks you’re a good witch. From what I can gather, she’s been watching a lot of _The Wizard of Oz_.’

‘A truly great film.’ Pippa replied contemplatively. She was perched on the same counter Mildred had been seated on, flicking through Joy Constance’s first recipe book: _Kitchen Craft_. ‘One of Judy Garland’s finest performances.’

‘Indeed. Anyway, may I make you a cup of coffee?’

‘Ooh, yes please.’ Pippa set the book down and hopped off the counter. ‘I haven’t had a coffee that didn’t come out of my espresso machine in months.’

Hecate wrinkled her nose, but refrained from responding.

‘The kitchen smells…nice.’ She said instead, measuring out coffee beans. Pippa bit her lip.

‘I thought I’d make breakfast. To say thank you for taking me in. I know it’s something of an intrusion.’

‘It’s not.’ Hecate replied. She had her back to Pippa, but Pippa thought she could make out a sudden pink tinge to her cheeks.

‘Well, either way.’ She said, trying not to smile. ‘I haven’t sat down to have breakfast in a really long time. Either I get it on the go to the bakery, or I’m so tired I sleep in till lunch.’ The kitchen filled with the smell of freshly ground beans as Hecate filled a weighty bronze cafetière, and Pippa inhaled contentedly.

‘You sound like you’ve been working hard.’ Hecate murmured. ‘I’ve seen you in the bakery from half-five to eight o’clock at night.’ Pippa shrugged.

‘Oh, you know what it’s like when you’re first starting out. So much overhead and not much traffic.’

‘Still, you’re getting quite the local reputation. Julie Hubble mentions your Danish pastries almost every time I see her. You’ll be able to hire more staff soon.’ 

‘You think?’ Pippa asked, trying to sound casual.

‘I know.’ Hecate made quick work of assembling a tea-tray, pouring milk into a small jug and balancing it next to the plate of Pippa’s muffins. ‘Come on. We can eat in the living room.’

Pippa watched in trepidation as Hecate took a small, delicate bite of a muffin and closed her eyes. She held her breath.

‘Are you watching me?’ Hecate’s tones were low and amused.

‘No.’ Pippa said faux-casually, lifting her coffee mug to her lips. Hecate had large, ceramic bowl mugs that she could wrap her fingers around to stop them tapping with anticipation. ‘I am extremely calm about the fact that my cooking heroine is currently trying one of my muffins.’

‘Yes, and you sound it.’ Hecate opened her eyes, offering a quick smile. ‘They’re…they’re good.’

‘Oh?’ Pippa asked. Hecate nodded, picking a little piece off a muffin and popping it in her mouth once more.

Pippa tried to enjoy the compliment, but something about Hecate’s response was nagging her. Joy Constance was analytical about food practically to a fault – Pippa highly doubted that people other than herself would be interested in a feature-length treatise on crumb-structure. It didn’t seem as though Hecate was the type of person to say food was good when it wasn’t. But her shoulders had tensed a little, and she remained silent.

‘You know, I’m happy to take constructive criticism.’ Pippa joked, trying to divine the source of the change of mood between them. Hecate looked up from her muffin, surprised.

‘Well, you don’t need it. The orange and almond are an inspired combination, there’s just the right note of spice, and you’ve clearly done your reading on crumb-structure.’

She paused, hesitating a fraction before she added ‘My mother used to use a recipe like this, on Christmas morning. She would always complain that the oranges we had here were nothing like the oranges where she grew up. We used to eat the cakes in secret together and talk about travelling to orange groves one day.’

‘She sounds lovely.’ Pippa said warmly, biting into a muffin. ‘Did you ever go?’

Hecate shook her head, her eyes lowered.

‘No, I – I always meant to. But I will.’ She met Pippa’s gaze again. ‘I have no intention of allowing my life to escape my grasp ever again.’

Pippa raised her coffee cup in a mock salute.

‘To grabbing life by the horns.’

Hecate toasted her with her own mug, before taking a deep, contented sip. Observing that Hecate’s shoulders had relaxed, Pippa allowed herself to bask in her praise.

‘So, the vanilla isn’t overpowering?’ Hecate rolled her eyes.

‘Miss Pentangle, I recommend that you cease fishing for compliments and try the coffee. It’s a good accompaniment.’

Poking out her tongue at her host, Pippa took a long sip. She tried to control her reaction.

‘It’s…robust.’ She hedged, setting down her mug. The corners of Hecate’s mouth quirked up.

‘You want to add at least three lumps of sugar, don’t you?’

‘Yes, desperately.’ Pippa exhaled, reaching for the sugar bowl that it seemed Hecate had known to provide for her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not coffee-cultured. I like sweets. It’s why I opened a bakery.’

‘I noticed. You have been here all of sixteen hours, and I have consumed more sugar than I have in a year.’

‘You know, there are a lot more hours left in the day.’ Pippa said slyly. ‘And a lot more sweet things to consume. I have an entire tin of brownies in my suitcase.’ Hecate raised her eyebrows, and Pippa faltered. ‘I mean – I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to impose. I can probably get a taxi back this morning if that’s…’ Hecate shook her head, and when she spoke, there was an affected casualness about her manner.

‘You know, I thought we might go for a walk, if you fancy it. I don’t think I have ever seen London so quiet; it might be nice to climb Primrose Hill without the…hoi polloi.’

Pippa giggled, mentally banishing her mother’s smug expression.

‘That sounds lovely.’

* * *

It really was rather lovely. It was perhaps not as empty of hoi polloi as Hecate might have hoped, but even the presence of North London’s fashionable set and their excited children could not detract from the sight of the city skyline rising from the white wooded parkland as they made their way up the hill.

‘Do you know, I think you can see my old flat from here.’ Pippa remarked, only a little short of breath. ‘Yes, that’s it, look.’ She pointed, and Hecate’s eyes followed her hand. The snow had begun to fall again, feather light and fine as sugar.

‘Goodness.’ She raised her eyebrows, her hands dug firmly into the pockets of her trench coat. ‘It’s very…’

‘Soulless?’ Pippa supplied. ‘Dull? Clinical?’

‘I was going to say…_modern_.’ Hecate drawled; her thoughts on the architectural style clear from her disdainful inflection.

‘Oh, very.’ Pippa sighed. ‘Not that there aren’t days when I miss living somewhere that had a functioning boiler, and beautiful views, and a decent shower.’ Hecate hummed in agreement, and Pippa looked at her curiously. ‘Whereabouts did you used to live, before you moved?’

Hecate took her time before she answered, squinting into the bright grey of the sky.

‘My partner had a house in Oxford. I lived with her there for almost twelve years.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa took a step closer, trying to read her expression. ‘Did you meet at university?’ Hecate tensed, and Pippa immediately backtracked. ‘I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to be nosy.’

‘Yes, you did.’ Hecate shook her head. ‘But it’s fine. We met when I was an undergraduate there. She was one of my tutors.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa said again. She wasn’t sure what she could say. Hecate’s face remained a mask, but her entire body was stiff, and her gait brittle, her gaze still focused on a point somewhere in the distance.

‘It took quite a while, to realise I was unhappy with her.’ She said, suddenly. ‘That was the thing. I was fine for almost a decade, letting her make plans and decisions, and never doing anything for myself. And then one day I was sorting out a box of photos from my first year at university, the year before I met her, and I found a photograph of myself and an old friend. And it seemed to rush at me all at once, when I realised how distant I was from the smiling girl in the picture. How confined, and miserable, and _small _my life had become.’

She wiped away a tear that Pippa hadn’t noticed falling, the stain gleaming on her cheek in the cold light. ‘It was another year before I left her. But that was the beginning of realising that I had to. And I thought if I could just get out from that house and away from her, I would feel free again, but if anything, my world got smaller. I couldn’t leave my flat. I still can’t write. And everyone was so patient – more patient than I deserved, given how I had pushed them away over the years, but…’

‘Your whole world had fallen apart.’ Pippa said, gently, quietly. She came closer, until their arms were brushing, and Pippa could see the muscles working in Hecate’s neck, controlling her emotions. ‘It was always going to take time. It took me years to work up the courage to leave my job; I can’t imagine how difficult that decision must have been for you.’

Hecate sniffed and pressed her lips together, and Pippa felt cool, long fingers reaching out to brush against her own. Taking a deep breath, she leant her head on Hecate’s shoulder, entwining their gloved hands. ‘I think you’re so brave.’

They stood like that for a while, Hecate quiet and lost in thought, Pippa content to feel the rise and fall of Hecate’s shoulders beneath her cheek. Hecate’s thumb pressed against her palm, rubbing slow circles against her pulse point that made her shiver involuntarily.

‘Are you cold?’ Hecate asked, turning towards Pippa.

‘No.’ Pippa whispered, hardly daring to speak lest she break the spell that seemed to have settled in the air around them like a fine mist. As if she too could sense it, Hecate’s movements were careful and delicate as she brought her other hand up, reaching to tuck a lock of Pippa’s hair behind her ear, her hand lingering by Pippa’s jaw.

Pippa bit her lip, trying to tamp down on her smile.

‘What is it?’ Hecate’s voice was husky and low. Pippa shook her head.

‘Nothing – it’s just, there really are snowflakes on your eyelashes.’

‘What?’

But just as Pippa was contemplating whether to reply, or lean closer, or to just throw herself into Hecate’s arms, there was a flash of purple, and a pair of childish hands, and she lost her footing. She clung on to Hecate, trying desperately to stay standing, but with a muffled squeak Hecate slipped and the two of them were tumbling down the hill, a jumble of hands and legs and elbows, unable to find purchase on the smooth snow.

Before Pippa could get her bearings enough to shriek, the incline levelled suddenly and she landed with a _thump_ on top of her companion, her hands digging into the snow as she stopped her face from smacking into Hecate’s by mere inches.

‘Are you alright?’ Pippa gasped, still catching her breath. Hecate groaned beneath her, sitting up a little and wiping snow from her mouth.

‘Ugh – I think so. For goodness sake, what kind of idiotic, negligent parent allows their child to…to…’ She broke off, her hand coming to rest on Pippa’s arm. ‘Are you alright?’

Pippa met Hecate’s concerned gaze, unprepared, she realised, for quite how beautiful Hecate Hardbroom was from close proximity.

‘Um, she offered, trying not to care about the fact that Hecate’s calves were entwined with her own, or ponder how easy it would be to close the distance between the two of them. Blushing furiously, she attempted to entangle them – and immediately winced, a sickening, shooting pain coursing up her leg.

‘Ah – my ankle.’ Hecate sat up properly then.

‘Let me see.’ Hecate extracted herself until she was standing and held out her hand for Pippa to haul herself up with. She wobbled precariously, and Hecate brought an arm around her waist, steadying her. Pippa leaned on her shoulder and tried not to think how romantic this would be if she wasn’t feeling nauseous with the pain, and her ankle wasn’t in the process of swelling to the size of a rugby ball.

‘Can you walk?’ Hecate asked, her voice betraying her anxiety. Pippa gingerly put a little weight on her ankle, and her leg buckled beneath her.

‘Not sure.’ She said, managing to keep her tone from straying to a whimper. ‘I don’t think it’s broken.’

‘No, but I don’t see how you can get home on it.’ Hecate’s brow knitted. ‘Really, if I catch that dratted child…’

‘We’re so sorry!’

A dark-haired woman in a very expensive looking purple coat was hurrying towards them as fast as the snow would allow, trailing a small child behind her.

‘So sorry.’ The woman panted, as she drew up next to them. ‘Enid didn’t mean to, did you sweetheart?’ Enid, beneath a layer of wool, gave them a sheepish sort of grin that suggested that she had in fact meant to but had not intended it to go quite that far.

‘That as may be.’ Hecate drew herself up to her full height, regarding the other woman coldly. ‘But your daughter has completely incapacitated Pippa, and I live a good twenty-minute walk away.’ The woman brought a hand to her mouth.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?’ Pippa managed a small smile.

‘I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just a sprain.’ The woman sighed in relief.

‘Oh, thank goodness. And please, let me take you home. I can get my husband to bring the car round – it’s the least I can do.’

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary…’ Hecate began, but the woman already had her phone to her ear, stepping away.

‘Hello, Nathaniel? Enid’s taken out a pedestrian, so I’ve said we’ll take her and her girlfriend home. Yes, Primrose Hill …’

While she was talking, Pippa turned to Hecate, trying not to blush too furiously at the woman's mistake.

‘I’m sure you’re not inclined to take her up on her offer, but I really don't see how we’re going to get back to Bloomsbury otherwise.’

‘I suppose not.’ Hecate grumbled, glaring at Enid, who stuck out her tongue in reply.

‘There.’ The woman smiled beatifically at the two of them, oblivious to Hecate’s glower as she stuffed her phone back into her bag. ‘He won’t be a minute; he was looking for somewhere to park anyway.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Narcissus Nightshade.’

‘A pleasure.’ Hecate said ironically. But the cogs in Pippa’s head were turning.

‘I’m sorry; _Narcissus Nightshade?_’

‘The one and only.’ Narcissus ran a hand through her curls self-consciously. ‘I don’t tend to get recognised without all the purple make up.’

‘No, it’s just – I’m a fan.’ Pippa took her hand and shook it, pushing the dull, throbbing ache of her ankle temporarily to the back of her mind. ‘Pippa Pentangle.’

Narcissus frowned.

‘Now why does that name sound familiar?’ Pippa laughed breathily, hardly daring to hope.

‘Oh, does it? I have a bakery with the same name – on Acacia Avenue?’

‘Ah yes, that must be it.’ Narcissus looked down at Enid. ‘Enid went with one of her little friends and hasn’t stopped talking about it since.’

Pippa forgave her miniature assailant on the spot.

‘Oh, have you?’ She grinned at Enid, who nodded vociferously, emerging from behind the layers of her scarf.

‘We had white chocolate and mango eclairs!’ She chirped.

‘You should come back in the new year.’ Pippa told her conspiratorially. ‘I’m going to try out apple and Biscoff ones too.’

‘Sounds delicious.’ Narcissus put her arms around Enid, who was beginning to jump up and down with excitement at the thought. ‘We’ll definitely have to check it out, won’t we Enie?’

‘Definitely.’ Enid said assertively.

It took all of Pippa’s self-control not to join Enid and jump up and down on the spot – a move that would have been particularly ill-advised given the state of her ankle. One Instagram post from Narcissus Nightshade would be worth all the Culture-Trip reviews in the world.

‘Daddy!’ Enid began running to the park gate, outside which a purple Porsche was gleaming in the winter sun.

‘Enid, stop!’ Narcissus turned and picked her way through the snow as best as she could in her heeled boots, chasing after her daughter once again.

Pippa looked nervously over at Hecate, who was frowning in the Nightshades’ direction.

‘I’m sorry.’ She apologised. ‘I know you would probably rather be anywhere else, but…’

‘Maybe not _anywhere_ else.’ Hecate looked over at Pippa, her frown melting slightly.

For a brief flicker of a moment, that same enchanted feeling that had stolen over them on the top of the hill seemed to return, and Pippa wished more than anything that they had not been interrupted, that they were not about to step into the car of one of the most famous families in the UK, that she could instead step into Hecate's arms and wrap her arms around her neck and not think about anything else ever again.

‘Anyway you are right, it can’t be helped.’ She heard Hecate saying, and Pippa blinked back into reality. 

'Thank you.' She said, with a small smile that Hecate returned in kind. Bending slightly, she offered an arm that Pippa gratefully accepted, leaning on Hecate once more and hobbling towards the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed! Hope everyone is safe and well.


	3. Let it Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, it got long and I had to divide this next chapter in two...again. Anyway, time to dive back into the Christmas spirit.

It was a struggle getting Pippa up the uneven staircase of the book shop, but somehow between the two of them they managed it.

‘There we go.’ Pippa panted with the exertion, leaning against the bannister. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a change of clothes.’

‘Quite.’ Hecate agreed, a little breathless herself. She let them into her flat, helping Pippa inside. ‘But you seem to have got the worst of it. You’re welcome to take a bath, if you like.'

‘Oh – that’s very kind.’ Pippa said, flustered. ‘But I hate how long I’ve imposed. I don’t mind getting a cab.’

‘I’m not sure what luck you’d have getting one, in the snow.’ Hecate pointed out, fairly. ‘And I can’t see you getting very far using the bus, even if TFL are stupid enough to run them today. I know you compared me to Scrooge yesterday, but it wouldn’t be very charitable to turn you out into the snow to hobble home on Christmas day.’ Pippa laughed in spite of herself.

‘No, I suppose not. Looks like you get the pleasure of my company for a bit longer, then.’

‘It would appear so.’ Hecate agreed. ‘But it the interests of it actually being a bit longer, and you not catching your death, perhaps you had better change out of your clothes?” Pippa had to concede she was right. Her teeth had begun to chatter with the cold, her body shaking as she leant against Hecate.

‘You may have a point.’ She admitted. ‘Thanks – a bath would be lovely.’ She disengaged from Hecate a little awkwardly. ‘I – um – my suitcase is in the living room, so…’

‘I’ll get you a towel.’ Hecate replied, all of a sudden equally as awkward.

Pippa hadn’t actually planned on having a bath. But the bathroom seemed to have been outfitted sometime in the seventies, and the shower was apparently incapable of releasing anything more than a faint trickle of lukewarm water. By contrast, while the tub itself was small, she managed to twist the two heavy iron taps at its head until they released two powerful jets of water; one that might have been melted snow from outside and another so hot Pippa was fairly certain that making contact with it would give her second degree burns. After turning the two at careful, irregular intervals, however, she was able to get the water to a tolerable level of warmth.

It struck her, not for the first time, that this was an odd sort of place for a bestselling food writer to live.

Propping her feet up at the end of the tub, Pippa studied her ankle. It wasn’t quite as badly swollen as it had appeared in the park, although it was currently an unattractive shade of mauve and throbbing rather painfully. With a frustrated groan, Pippa slipped further down into the bath and wondered idly whether it was worth coming out, given that apparently all she could do around Hecate Hardbroom was either injure herself or gaze at her like a loon.

_No. _Pippa told herself firmly, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother’s. _You are a strong, independent, business-owning woman, and you are going to get back out there and flirt with Hecate Hardbroom without scalding or spraining anything else._

Having indulged in a ten-minute soak and after giving herself a few more internal, increasingly-confident pep talks, Pippa managed to lever herself out of the tub and pull down the towel Hecate had left warming on the rail. Wrapping herself up, she arranged herself carefully on the floor and reviewed the contents of her suitcase with a slight frown. The Christmas jumper and jeans she had put on that morning were still sopping wet, the ineffectual radiator doing very little to aid their drying, and what remaining clothing there was in her suitcase appeared to be either pyjamas or formalwear. She got to her knees, rummaging through her packed wardrobe – and paused as her fingers found something soft, and woollen. Humming to herself in recognition, Pippa pulled out a sweater dress, shaking it out and examining it critically.

The dress had been a treat to herself on her last day as an investment banker; a last indulgent purchase before her life became a series of calculated frugalities. And as she pulled it over her head and surveyed herself, she mentally congratulated herself on the venture. The cashmere was soft as butter, the blush pink bringing out roses in her complexion. The dress itself clung to her frame, ending scandalously at her upper thigh – with that in mind, Pippa pulled on a pair of semi-sheer tights. She might be committed to romancing her hostess, but the flat was cold, and she wasn’t a lunatic. Hobbling to the small mirror above the sink, Pippa applied her make up with care; delicately enlarging her eyes, daubing her cheeks and lips with the subtlest of pink shades. Subtlety was the key after all – hadn’t Hecate said as much herself last night?

After brushing her hair out until it fell in waves around her collar-bone, and dabbing perfume on her neck and wrists, Pippa regarded her reflection with a smile. It had been so long since she’d done anything more complicated with her appearance than a t-shirt and a hasty ponytail, and for a brief moment she forgot all about Hecate Hardbroom and instead allowed herself a vain, self-indulgent few seconds of admiring how pretty she looked, even in Hecate’s tiny, unforgiving mirror. With a final flick of her hair, she opened the door and made her way into the living room, the effect only slightly undercut by her limp.

Judging by Hecate’s slightly stunned expression, her change of outfit had had the desired effect. The other woman’s eyes were wide, her lips parted as she seemed to reach for words just beyond her grasp.

Her earlier confidence dimmed somewhat, Pippa felt self-conscious.

‘You know, I didn’t have a lot of options in my suitcase, and…’

‘No.’ Hecate interrupted, her cheeks flushing pink as she met Pippa’s eyes. ‘No, you look – you look nice. Very nice.’ She seemed to struggle again. ‘Very…pink.’ She finished rather lamely, and Pippa resisted the urge to giggle.

‘Well, thank you. You look very nice too.’ And she did – Pippa hadn’t noticed Hecate’s outfit under her long trench coat, but she was dressed incredibly elegant in a green, round neck cardigan and a black skirt that fell loosely around her legs, skimming her calves. But she appeared to have redone other parts of her appearance since their inopportune fall; her hair now braided and styled in a bun at the nape of her neck and her make-up re-applied in a manner that made her dark eyes seem even larger than they were already, the sharp angles of her cheekbones softened and glowing in the low light.

Hecate was spared replying. Bright white light split and flooded the flat in a flash, the living room almost reverberating with the ear-splitting roar of the thunder that followed swiftly after.

Pippa was too frightened to scream. She stood stock still in the doorway, her heart racing in her chest, her mouth dry with dread. Flirting with Hecate seemed a very distant thought as she tried to remember the order in which one was supposed to inhale and exhale.

Hecate let out a low, impressed whistle, peering out at the sky outside through her window.

‘Thundersnow.’ She explained, unnecessarily. ‘I have to say, the day is feeling increasingly surreal.’

Pippa nodded, barely hearing Hecate as she closed her eyes. _It’s only a thunderstorm. _She told herself firmly, taking a deep breath. _It’s only a thunderstorm. It’s only a thunderstorm_.

It didn't help. Pippa felt as though she might be five years old again, cowered beneath her bed with a wild Lancastrian storm rattling at her windows and shaking the walls.

‘Everything alright?’ Pippa opened her eyes to see Hecate regarding her with concern from across the room. Pippa smiled tremulously.

‘Fine.’ But her voice was wobbling a little, and Hecate’s eyebrows rose in alarm.

‘Is it your ankle? Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps we should have gone to A&E.’

‘No.’ Pippa replied, quickly and louder than she intended. ‘No, honestly it’s fine. I…’ She trailed off, frustrated. ‘I hate thunderstorms.’ She winced at the words as they came out, hated herself for being such a _child_. She could hardly bear to look at the other woman, unsure whether she could stand one of Hecate’s eye-rolls if it was directed at her.

‘Very sensible of you.’ Pippa’s head snapped up in surprise, but Hecate was looking fixedly out of the window. ‘If more people were afraid of thunderstorms, there would be fewer fools running about in them and getting themselves struck by lightning.’ Pippa shuddered at the thought, but felt her spirits lift a little at Hecate’s words, at her tact.

‘I don't think my fear is quite as rational as you make it sound.’ She confessed. ‘I just…’ There was another flash of white light and Pippa’s explanation died on her lips; she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and brought her hands up to cover her ears.

‘Right.’ She heard Hecate say, carefully. ‘Perhaps something to distract you, then?’ Pippa nodded, looking up and biting her lip. There was another peal of thunder, and she bit harder, fighting down a whimper, her fingernails pressing into her palms. She looked around the room, trying to ground herself in her surroundings – and something on top of the bookshelf caught her eye.

‘You play chess?’ Hecate followed her eyeline.

‘I – I haven’t for a while.’

‘Me neither.’ Pippa attempted a smile. ‘We could see how much we remember?’

It turned out, after they had set up the board on the floor in front of the gas fire and propped Pippa’s ankle on a pile of cushions, that Hecate remembered quite a bit more than her. Hindered significantly by the fact that her concentration was broken with every flash of lightning, Pippa lost her queen embarrassingly early in the first game, and managed to limp to a slightly-less-than-humiliating defeat through sheer stubbornness alone. The second game they played however was far more evenly matched, as the thunder grew quieter, and Pippa was able to direct her mind totally to defeating the other woman.

And yet Pippa found herself increasingly distracted by more prosaic matters – the way Hecate would drum her fingers and bite her lip when contemplating a line of attack; the delicacy of her long fingers as she moved a piece across the board. Their conversation was light and teasing, and Pippa found herself enjoying not only their game, but the playful side of Hecate Hardbroom a competitive chess match seemed to draw out. She found pleasure in riling her, in making remarks that would have her companion’s eyes flashing in amusement or feigned outrage. But with her concentration slipping, Hecate soon pressed the advantage.

‘Careless, Pentangle.’ Hecate drawled, moving her queen to knock the second of Pippa’s knights off the board. Pippa huffed.

‘Show-off.’

‘Says the woman who sang a victory song when she took my rook.’ Hecate pointed out.

‘It rhymes!’ Pippa defended. ‘I was being poetic. You were being mean.’ Her companion raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with a feline self-satisfaction.

‘Stop stalling. Make a move.’

Pippa surveyed the board, sizing up her options. There was one four-step plan that could set her up beautifully, but there was little chance of getting it past the sharp-eyed woman across the board.

But Pippa wasn’t the sort to let opportunity pass her by. She would simply have to distract her opponent.

Blowing out her cheeks, Pippa tousled her curls with her hand, crossing one leg over the other and looking at Hecate through lowered lashes.

‘You know.’ She said, her voice low and sultry as she moved her bishop nonchalantly to c6. ‘I’ve never seen the point in using fresh rosemary and thyme for a roast chicken. I’ve always thought that you can get exactly the same effect with a couple of spoonfuls of mixed herbs.’

The effect was instantaneous. Hecate’s head snapped up.

‘First of all, the fact that you even _possess_ anything calling itself_ ‘_mixed herbs’ is enough to make me question every credential you have as a professional. Secondly…’

By the time Hecate had finished her rant, Pippa was on the fourth move of her stratagem, and she moved her queen with slow, delighted relish, setting it down and waiting triumphantly for Hecate’s reaction.

Hecate gave a quiet gasp as she realised Pippa’s manoeuvre, but it was too late. Pippa watched with increasing smugness as Hecate scanned the board, until she eventually let out an exasperated huff as she saw the corner she had been painted into. ‘How did you…’ She looked up, scandalised. ‘You don’t actually think that ‘mixed herbs’ is an acceptable ingredient in a roast chicken, do you?’

‘Nope.’ Pippa leant back, folding her arms. ‘It’s not an acceptable ingredient in anything. I’m in complete agreement with you.’

‘Pippa Pentangle…’ Hecate sucked in a breath. ‘Fine. You – win.’ Hecate’s voice grew strangled at the admission. Then, as though it was taking all the self-discipline she possessed not to flip the board, she reached forward with a perfect black nail and knocked over her own king.

Pippa looked up, outraged.

‘You can’t give in!’

‘Of course I can.’ Hecate sniffed. ‘It’s mate in two moves.’

‘Exactly! I want to execute my perfect checkmate.’ Pippa reached forward and set Hecate’s king upright. ‘Come on.’ Hecate’s eyes took on a wicked look.

‘Nowhere in the rules does it say that I am prohibited from surrendering.’ She knocked her king over again. ‘You win. Well done.’

‘Hecate Hardbroom...’ Pippa went to pick up Hecate’s king once more, but Hecate caught her wrist with her hand. Pippa gasped at the frisson of touch. ‘Let me finish the game, Hecate.’

‘It is finished. You’ve won.’ Hecate’s smirk was maddening, and she made to sweep aside the pieces.

‘No, I haven’t!’ Pippa wrapped her own fingers around Hecate’s wrist, stopping the other woman in her tracks. Hecate looked up.

‘Let go.’

‘Not unless you let me defeat you.’

‘Never going to happen, Pentangle.’

She released Pippa’s wrist to attempt to knock away the pieces again, and therein made her fatal error. Pippa grabbed her other wrist and pushed forward, catching the other woman off guard. With a squeak, Hecate slipped, falling onto her back, and Pippa went with her, chess pieces flying. She pinned Hecate’s wrists either side of her head.

‘Say that I’m the better chess player.’ Pippa demanded.

‘Never.’ Hecate panted, wriggling beneath Pippa's grasp. Bringing up her knee, she unbalanced Pippa, who crashed to the floor inelegantly beside her.

An excruciating wrench of her ankle reminded her rather abruptly of why initiating a physical fight was perhaps not the best idea in her current circumstances.

‘Ow.’ Pippa winced, letting go of Hecate and sitting up to rub at her ankle.

‘Sorry.’ Hecate sat up, looking concerned. ‘I forgot you were injured.’

‘No harm done.’ Pippa rubbed at her ankle ruefully. ‘So did I. I’m a little competitive.’

‘Yes, I noticed.’ Hecate replied, drily. Pippa looked over at her in outrage, only to see amusement in Hecate’s eyes, the corners of her mouth turned up. ‘Anyway. You look rather… lovely, when you’re angry.’

_Oh_.

Hecate was staring at the floor with flushed cheeks, as though that last part had slipped out without her permission. Pippa couldn’t have stopped herself from smiling if she tried. She moved her hand slowly across the floor until her little finger brushed Hecate’s, the action feeling oddly more intimate than when she had her hands wrapped around the other woman’s wrists. When Hecate looked up again, she seemed almost shy.

Pippa leant forward just as Hecate shuffled across to get nearer, reaching out for Pippa.

There was a knock at the door.

‘What in the world?’ Hecate growled, springing back almost involuntarily. Pippa exhaled, doing her level best not to scream in frustration. The knocking continued.

‘Hecate Hardbroom, open this bloody door.’

‘You’d better go see who that is.’ Pippa said, weakly. Hecate groaned and got to her feet, whilst Pippa smoothed her hair and pulled down her dress where it had ridden up, trying hastily to compose herself.

As she did, she heard Hecate opening the door.

‘What? What could you possibly want?’

‘Happy Christmas to you too, HB.’ Pippa tensed. It was another woman’s voice at the door, sounding more amused than affronted at the frosty greeting she had just received. Casually, she stretched to peer around the coffee table, but all she could see beyond Hecate’s back was a cloud of ginger curls.

‘Happy Christmas. Goodbye.’

‘Not so fast.’ From the _thud _that followed and Hecate’s hiss, it sounded as though the woman had stopped the door with her foot. ‘Mildred and I can’t get to my mum’s in the snow, and Miss Bat’s nephew is stuck in Norwich. So, we’re pooling resources and cooking Christmas lunch together, and you’re coming too.’

‘I’m busy.’ Pippa heard Hecate say, firmly. She got unsteadily to her feet, limping into the landing as quietly as she could. She could see the woman at the door now – she was about their age, wearing a stubborn look as she folded her arms and glared up at Hecate. Pippa recognised her vaguely as a regular at the bakery, was sure they had had a pleasant conversation or two, but right now she was struggling to have a charitable thought about the woman standing between her and Hecate’s attention.

‘Oh, come off it, Hecate. I know for a fact it is just you and Morgana in there. And you can’t sit up here while we have Christmas dinner downstairs, I won’t have it.’

‘Yes, I can. Go and enjoy your improvised dinner with our landlords.’ The woman at the door snorted, looking into Hecate’s flat – and locking eyes with Pippa.

‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened to comic proportions. ‘Christ, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you had someone over.’ Hecate whipped her head around, her colour deepening.

‘That is…I…’

‘Hi, Pippa Pentangle.’ Pippa limped closer, extending her hand. ‘I got stranded at my café last night; Hecate let me sleep on her sofa.’ She smiled reassuringly at Hecate, who looked a little placated. Julie meanwhile was looking between the two of them with an ever-broadening smile.

‘You know, when Mildred said there was a good witch staying with HB to make her muffins, I assumed she’d just watched too much of ‘The Wizard of Oz.’’

She took Pippa’s hand, shaking with a firm grip. ‘Julie Hubble. I’m a huge fan – I’m not quite sure how I survived my morning commute without a mocha cronut and a latte from _Pentangle’s._’

‘Now I remember.’ Pippa beamed. ‘You were so lovely when I opened – I’m sure half my first lot of customers said they’d come here on your recommendation. But please don’t let me get in the way.’ She turned to Hecate. ‘It’s honestly fine – I have a book in my suitcase, I can just wait up here.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Hecate and Julie voices overlapped, turning to Pippa with similar expressions of indignation.

‘You’d be more than welcome to come for dinner. Both of you.’ Julie shot a knowing glance at Hecate. ‘Come on. For Gwen? It would mean the world to her if you were there.’ Hecate hesitated, her eyes softening, and Pippa could tell Julie had touched a weak spot.

‘That’s very kind of you.’ Pippa said, warmly. ‘What do you think, Hecate?’ She tried to keep her tone as even as possible as she looked up at the other woman.

Hecate met her eyes, and gave a resigned sigh.

‘Very well. What is it you want me to cook?’

‘Do you have potatoes and carrots?’ Hecate raised her eyes heavenwards, and Julie seemed to take that as confirmation. ‘Excellent. Roast potatoes and carrots, then, and remember Gwen and Algie are vegetarian. I’ll send Mildred up with some of ours as well, so we’ll have enough.’

‘I’ll help.’ Pippa smiled up at Hecate. ‘And I have some things from the bakery I was bringing home to mum, I can bring those too.’

‘Magical.’ Julie laughed. ‘My girlfriend’s bringing Christmas pudding, so we’ll be spoilt for choice at this rate.’

‘Dimity’s coming?’ Hecate groaned. Julie put her hands on her hips.

‘Hecate, need I remind you that she was your friend first?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ Hecate muttered. ‘Besides, since introducing the two of you, you’ve somehow both become twice as insufferable.’

‘Oh, you love us really.’ Julie said, cheerfully. ‘Now we should probably get cracking...’

‘HB, Pippa!’ Pippa could hear Mildred’s voice before the girl herself made an appearance, taking the steps two at a time and practically vibrating with excitement. ‘Are you coming for Christmas dinner?’

‘Your mother has persuaded us.’ Hecate folded her arms. ‘Against my better judgment.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Julie muttered, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Pippa. But Mildred was oblivious.

‘Can I help?’ She begged, tugging at Hecate’s sleeve. ‘Please can I help with the cooking?’

‘Mildred, what have I told you about bothering HB?’ Julie interjected, looking between Hecate and Pippa apologetically. But Mildred’s shoulders slumped a fraction, and Hecate sighed.

‘_If _you are on your best behaviour and promise not to make a mess, then I suppose you can help with the cooking.’ Mildred’s face split in a wide grin, but she immediately stood up straighter.

‘Yes, Miss Hardbroom.’

* * *

Fifteen minutes into preparing roast vegetables with Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa knew with total and absolute certainty that this had to be torture. The worst kind of torture. The sort of torture where there is a five-year-old child in the room peeling carrots and chatting genially about her Christmas presents whilst the irresistible woman you have been wanting for hours, pining after for months and spiritually crushing on for years is only millimetres away, parboiling potatoes.

Hecate’s cramped kitchen was not helping matters – even with Mildred sitting on the counter there was scant space to move around, and Pippa lost count of the times she had to brush past Hecate to get a bowl or reach over her for a utensil.

And more to the point, there were moments that couldn’t be explained away by their confined surroundings – the linger of Hecate’s hands by her hips as she moved past Pippa, a hand Pippa pressed to the small of Hecate’s back as she peered over her shoulder at the bubbling pot. Pippa felt as though her blood had been brought to a gentle simmer in her veins, and Hecate’s sharp intake of breath as she leant into her suggested that the other woman was not wholly unaffected either.

‘Right.’ Hecate said, her voice reasonably steady under the circumstances. ‘Those are ready to be drained, I think.’

She decanted the potatoes carefully over the sink into a colander and Pippa found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the movement of Hecate’s wrists, the slope of her shoulders, the wisps of hair that had escaped her chignon, frazzled by the heat.

After giving the colander a firm shake, Hecate set it on the side of her counter, removed a tray of oil from her oven and tipped the potatoes onto it, where they sizzled happily. ‘Now, Mildred Hubble. Would you care to do the honours?’

Mildred nodded happily, fetching a small, step-up stool tucked away in the corner of the kitchen and climbing up on it, allowing Hecate to guide her hand as she seasoned the potatoes. Pippa leant against the counter and watched the two of them with something akin to fondness – however ridiculous a sentiment that was for two people she had met less than twenty-four hours ago. But there seemed no better way to describe the way her heart tightened in her chest at the two dark heads bent over their work, at the seriousness of their expressions.

‘And that is _quite _enough.’ Hecate pronounced, lifting Mildred down from her stool and opening the oven door.

‘The veg is ready too.’ Pippa handed Hecate the tray she had been preparing, and as Hecate slotted both carefully into the oven and set a timer on her phone, thought how pretty she looked with her cheeks flushed from the heat.

‘Alright then HB? Smells delicious up here.’ Hecate and Pippa started at the new voice, and Pippa turned to see a woman in a bright blue Christmas jumper leaning against the doorframe, surveying the scene with something akin to glee in her eyes.

‘Dimity!’ Mildred ran into the strange woman’s arms, and the woman – Dimity apparently – hugged her cheerfully.

‘Hello, trouble. Have you had fun this morning?’

‘Yep.’ Mildred nodded excitedly. ‘And look, this is Pippa. She’s staying with HB, and she made us muffins!’

‘Yeah, your mum filled me in.’ Dimity shot a sly look to Hecate, who sniffed, ducking her head to avoid it. But when Dimity turned to Pippa, there was genuine friendliness in her gaze. ‘Hiya. Dimity Drill.’

‘Pippa Pentangle.’ Pippa smiled back. ‘Happy Christmas.’

‘Happy Christmas to you too! And to you HB.’ Dimity winked at Pippa. ‘Has she told you how much she despises the holiday yet?’

‘Oh, I think I might be bringing her round.’ Pippa said it lightly enough, but she looked over shyly at Hecate, who blushed unwillingly at the floor.

‘I bet you are.’ Dimity grinned. ‘Anyway: Millie, your mum wants you downstairs so you can get changed into something nice. You two, Gwen and Algernon have arrived, and Gwen’s demanding to see you both.’

‘Of course she is.’ Hecate sighed. She turned to Pippa. ‘Do you think you can manage the stairs again?’

Descending the steps down to the book shop proved to be far easier than ascending, and Pippa was able to limp down without much assistance from Hecate.

Gwen Bat was standing at the bottom of the staircase, looking extraordinarily festive in a long, green velvet dress, with sprigs of holly arranged artfully in her hair.

‘Come on, Hecate, you should never keep a woman waiting, especially if she’s in her eighties.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Hecate muttered, helping Pippa down the final few steps. Gwen turned to Pippa, surveying her beadily from behind her spectacles even as her face broke out into a smile.

‘Pippa Pentangle. What a wonderful surprise. I hope you’ve had a good Christmas with Hecate.’

‘It’s been lovely.’ Pippa smiled up at the dark-haired woman. ‘I’m very lucky that Hecate took me in like that last night, I didn’t fancy my chances on the night bus in the snow.’

‘Indeed not.’ Gwen gave a heartfelt shudder. ‘Still, it seems to have all worked out for the best.’ She turned her piercing gaze to Hecate, who shifted beneath it in discomfort. ‘Hecate. I’m glad you didn’t put up a fight about this.’

‘I tried.’ Hecate grumbled, moving to kiss the old woman’s cheek. ‘I got ganged up on.’

‘Quite right.’ Gwen patted her on the back. ‘Thinking you could shut yourselves away upstairs on Christmas.’

‘Miss Bat!’ Mildred scrambled down the stairs and wriggled between the two of them to give the old woman a hug. ‘We made roast potatoes! And this is Pippa, she came to make muffins with Hecate and now she’s staying for dinner.’

‘Wonderful! You’re very welcome, Pippa.’ Gwen smiled sweetly at the pair of them over the top of the little girl’s head, and Hecate glared back in reply.

‘Where’s Mr Rowan-Webb?’ Mildred asked, looking past Gwen excitedly.

‘Oh, he’s bringing in food from the car.’ Gwen said airily. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

Dimly through the window, Pippa could make out the other proprietor of _Vespertilio’s Books _staggering under a pile of foil-covered dishes, slipping about haphazardly in the snow.

‘I – should we help?’ She asked, uncertainly.

‘On it.’ Dimity emerged from behind them, hurrying out of the shop to relieve the elderly man of some of his burden.

‘Right.’ Gwen clapped her hands together, a steely glint in her eye as she looked around the shop with the air of someone beginning a military operation. ‘There is a fold-up table and chairs in the cupboard. We need to get the Christmas decorations back up, the table laid, the food plated and we need at least six bottles of wine.’

She looked sharply at Hecate, and Pippa couldn’t help but laugh at the expression of mulish, fond resignation on Hecate’s face. ‘No slacking.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ Hecate sighed. After looking between the two of them one more time, as if to make certain of their compliance, Gwen nodded.

‘Come on Mildred. We should go and see how your mother is getting on.’ And taking Mildred’s hand, the two went over to the back of the shop, where a faint aroma of smoke was emanating from Julie Hubble’s flat.

‘You asked for this.’ Hecate glowered down at her, resentment mingling with something else Pippa couldn’t quite put her finger on. ‘I just hope you understand what you’ve got yourself into. Gwen takes these things incredibly seriously.’

‘I can’t wait.’ Pippa slipped a hand into Hecate’s, relishing the look of pleased surprise on her face. ‘I like your friends, and I like how we are all going to drag you into the Christmas spirit whether you like it or not.’ Hecate sighed.

‘Well, then.’ She leant to murmur in her ear, a strand of hair tickling Pippa’s cheek. ‘I suppose we had better get started.’


	4. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Ten minutes into set up and Gwen was running the operation like a military dictator, firing orders at any in the group who might so much as contemplate slacking. Hecate and Algernon had located the fold-up table at the back of the store cupboard and were currently propping its uneven legs with copies of old computer manuals, whilst Dimity had been tasked with setting up chairs. By way of contrast, Pippa had been told that she wasn’t to do a thing, but rather should rest her ankle and bring Gwen up to speed on how she had been spending her Christmas; which Pippa dutifully did – omitting a few details, mindful of Hecate’s blushes.

‘So how do you all know each other?’ Pippa asked eventually, casting an eye around the eclectic group.

‘Oh, Julie’s father was an old family friend of Algernon’s – but Dimity and Hecate I’ve known since they were babies.’ Gwen handed Dimity a stack of chairs, watching her stagger under their weight with fondness. ‘I was great friends with their mothers. We toured as a trio, before the other two got married. I never had children of my own, but the two of them were very dear to me.’ She smiled in reminiscence. ‘And both of them such funny, sweet little girls – yes, even you were a little girl once, Hecate.’ Pippa had to stifle a giggle at Hecate’s expression of distaste.

‘If you say so.’ Hecate murmured.

‘I do.’ Gwen's eyes flashed in Hecate's direction from behind her spectacles. ‘And you should never disagree with a woman in her seventies.’ Pippa frowned in confusion, but Gwen was already off, delving into the store-cupboard, presumably to unearth more of the shop’s ancient Christmas decorations.

Didn’t Gwen just say she was in her eighties?’ Pippa asked. Hecate and Dimity both snorted, exchanging knowing glances.

‘She lies about how old she is.’ Hecate explained. ‘Constantly and pathologically. She avoids any and all questions on the subject by claiming that a woman’s age is her prerogative, but that’s a likely story.’

‘We know she toured with our mums.’ Dimity added, lowering her voice and looking about her furtively, as though the old woman might materialise behind her at any given moment. ‘And she must be over retirement age. But other than that; no clue. She could be anywhere between sixty-five and a hundred.’

‘Older, even.’ Hecate added, darkly. ‘No way to tell. Not even ‘The Encyclopedia Britannica’ knows the date of her birth.’

‘Or ‘Wikipedia.’’ Dimity pointed out. ‘You know, where normal people look.’

‘People who have no regard for proper referencing or the need for accurate original source material, you mean…’

Thankfully, before Hecate could continue her lecture on proper academic practice, Mildred ran into the bookshop. She was in a black velveteen party dress, her hair pulled back in a bun.

‘HB, HB look!’ She twirled around giddily, narrowly avoiding a pile of autobiographies. ‘I look like you!’ She stopped to stand on her tiptoes, knitting her brows in a faux-austere expression and lowering her voice by an octave. ‘Mildred Hubble. You appear to have burnt the toast again. I have met chimps who could operate a toaster better than you.’

The room erupted into laughter, Dimity almost dropping the stack of chairs she was carrying in her glee. Even Hecate looked as though she were fighting off a smile.

‘Oh, I see, everyone’s an impressionist.’ She swatted at Mildred half-heartedly, and the little girl danced out of her way, giggling as she tripped her way through piles of books, saved from flying head over heels over the works of Charles Dickens only by Algernon reacting quickly and picking her up, swinging her over the pile. As he did so, the door to Julie’s flat was flung open, followed swiftly by clouds of smoke and a rather frazzled looking Julie Hubble.

‘Hecate.’ She panted; a spatula clutched tightly in one hand. ‘You couldn’t come and tell me what I’m doing wrong, could you?’ Hecate groaned, but allowed Julie to take her by the hand and drag her back into the Hubble residence, giving Pippa a last, resigned look as she disappeared into Julie’s hallway.

Drawn out by the commotion, Gwen emerged from the cupboard.

‘Algie.’ She called, her arms full of tinsel. ‘Sling some of this over the piano, would you? The rest will do nicely for the table.’ Algernon hastened to obey, reaching to peck Gwen’s cheek as he relieved her of the streams of silver and gold in her arms.

‘I hadn’t noticed the piano, before.’ Pippa commented, hobbling to where Gwen was surveying Algie and Mildred’s efforts at decoration. ‘It’s a funny thing to have in a bookshop.’

‘Well, when Algie and I moved into our house, we had rather more possessions than we knew what to do with.’ Gwen said, in a soft voice, looking tenderly at the man currently draping tinsel over Mildred, pretending that he could not see where the instrument ended and she began. ‘And I couldn’t bear to part with my old teaching piano – so I moved it in here. And I do so love giving Mildred lessons, even if I’m not up to teaching properly anymore.’

‘I can imagine.’ Pippa smiled. Mildred was giggling at Algie’s antics, cheeks bright pink with mirth. ‘She’s a sweet girl.’

‘Oh, isn’t she. She reminds me of Hecate at that age.’ Pippa’s surprise must have shown on her face, because Gwen smiled at her a little sadly, patting her hand. ‘I know it may seem hard to believe. Hecate hasn’t had the easiest of lives. I tried to help her as much as I could, especially when she was younger, but…well, you can’t imagine how relieved I was last year, when she reached out.’

‘Yes.’ Pippa said slowly, unsure of how much Hecate would be comfortable with her sharing. ‘I’m glad she was able to go to you, though.’

‘Always. She was always able to go to me.’ There was a tremor of emotion in Gwen’s voice now. ‘Do you know, I think somewhere Hecate had convinced herself that she deserved to be miserable. But there were always people who loved her and wanted to help her – she only had to let us know _how_.’ Her eyes travelled upwards, and Pippa followed their gaze to one of the black and white photographs that decorated the shop. For a brief instant, Pippa thought she was looking at a portrait photo of Hecate; the woman depicted had the same long, dark hair and long-lashed dark eyes. But on a closer look there were pronounced differences. This woman, clad in the flowing costume of some Romanesque production, had smaller, more diminutive features, a dimple in her cheek, even. And even in the photograph her eyes seemed to Pippa impossibly, unbearably sad. Pippa could hardly look at her without feeling her heart clench in her chest.

She turned to Gwen, questions teeming on her lips – but Gwen merely patted her hand, and although there was nothing but kindness in the look she bestowed upon Pippa, she thought that it would be wise to cease prying. Luckily at that point, whatever food-related crisis had been keeping Hecate in Julie’s kitchen appeared to be resolved, as the two women emerged from the flat, both carrying dishes of food and arguing heatedly.

‘One _second _later and the entire bookshop might have gone up in flames of course…’

‘But we got there in time! What’s the big deal?’ Julie set down her dish with a thump, glaring at Hecate. ‘Just because _one time _I…’

‘No fighting on Christmas!’ Gwen interjected, flashing warning eyes at the pair of them. Both to their credit immediately stopped bickering, Hecate looking chagrined and Julie a little sheepish. ‘Better. Now, knives and forks please, Hecate. Julie, you’re the artist; I’ll leave the decoration of the table to you.’ And with that the old woman disappeared back into her store cupboard, obviously well-satisfied with her powers of persuasion. Hecate, meanwhile, to Pippa’s surprise, went off with barely a grumble, quickly enlisting Mildred’s help in setting the table.

‘So, tell me.’ Pippa looked up with a start. Dimity, rather than setting the last chair had pulled it up next to Pippa and was looking at her with eyes that danced in their inquiry, her voice low enough to go unheard by Hecate. ‘How did you sprain your ankle? It looks nasty.’ Pippa felt her cheeks redden.

‘Oh – Narcissus Nightshade’s daughter pushed us down a hill.’

‘Oh, that Enid.’ Julie gave her a sympathetic look. ‘She’s a handful and a half. Always pulling Millie into some kind of trouble. Still, not bad to have the Nightshades owing you a favour.’ But Dimity appeared not to have heard. Pippa could practically hear the cogs in her brain whirring.

‘Us?’ She asked casually. ‘So, that would be…you and Hecate?’ Inwardly, Pippa cursed herself for her verbal slip.

‘Yes.’ She admitted. Dimity’s face split in a radiant beam, a far off look in her eyes.

‘Hecate rolling down a hill.’ She murmured, happily. ‘Hecate Hardbroom tumbling head over heels. Oh, if only someone had a camera.’ A new thought seemed to strike her, and her eyes darted over to Pippa, suddenly bright and mischievous. ‘You must have been very close, for a tiny thing like Enid Nightshade to push the two of you over.’ Pippa began to splutter half-formed excuses, Dimity’s grin growing broader all the while, until Julie interrupted.

‘Oh, leave them alone, Dimity.’ She swatted at her partner with the end of the tinsel she was holding. Dimity caught the tinsel and gave it a tug, and Julie laughed as she was pulled inescapably towards Dimity, until she fell onto her lap, Dimity’s arms wrapping themselves tightly around Julie’s waist.

‘Make me.’ Dimity’s voice was low, her eyes softening as Julie smiled and bent her head to kiss her, lightly. Pippa couldn’t help but smile too at the dazed look Dimity gave Julie in the second after they parted.

‘Honestly, behave.’ Julie intoned sternly, but she pressed another quick kiss to Dimity’s cheek before she got up. ‘I didn't think you’d be such a little kid on Christmas. You’re almost as bad as Millie.’

‘I wear that description as a badge of honour.’ Was Dimity’s solemn reply. ‘If anything, I’m far worse. Look at how well she’s listening to Hecate.’ The three women turned their heads to where Hecate and Mildred were setting the table, Hecate instructing Mildred on traditional cutlery placement and Mildred nodding, only very occasionally glancing at where Algernon was setting up Christmas lights spectacularly badly.

‘Honestly, those two.’ Julie shook her head. ‘You’d be hard-pressed to find a more unlikely pair.’

‘They seem close.’ Pippa ventured. ‘Mildred said Hecate babysits her?’

‘Oh yeah, everyone helps out with Millie.’ Julie looked around the room fondly. ‘Not that I’d ever ask it of them. Do you know, I’d almost given up on finding a place when I realised I was having her? I thought I’d have to move back in with my mum. But then Algie came back from a thirty-year mountain retreat looking for my dad, and heard I was looking for a place to rent. And then he reunited with Gwen; then Hecate moved in last year; Dimity was always coming by – and well, the rest is history. I never realised how true it was, you know, that saying: ‘It takes a village…’’

‘More like a small principality when it comes to your daughter, Julie.’ Hecate interrupted, setting knives and forks down where Dimity was sitting, Mildred having finally wandered off.

‘Oi! Earwigging!’ Julie grinned. ‘How are the spuds coming, are we ready to eat?’

‘Almost.’ Hecate checked her phone. ‘Five minutes.’

‘’Splendid.’ Gwen re-emerged from the cupboard, almost upsetting Algernon from his ladder in the process. ‘I’m famished.’

* * *

By the time Julie and Hecate had finished bringing out great steaming ceramic dishes piled high with wonderful-smelling food, Pippa’s mouth was already watering. The vegetarian offering at her mother’s was usually nothing more than a concessionary nut roast, purchased from the local supermarket. Between the six of them (seven if you included Mildred’s contribution of peeling and late-stage seasoning) they had conjured a feast. There were roast potatoes, golden and sizzling still from the oven and flecked green with rosemary and thyme; winter vegetables glazed with honey and gleaming in the lamplight. Julie lifted the lid on a cauliflower cheese bubbling beneath a toasted bread-crumb topping, and another on a leek and red lentil bake, which she said she thought would be a good substitute for stuffing. But all of them agreed that Algie and Gwen’s offering was the centrepiece: An enormous mushroom and ale pie, the pastry butter browned and flaky and patterned with braids and holly leaves, the knife moving through it with a satisfying _crunch _and drawing out perfectly formed slices that held together even as they were transferred from the flat of the knife to plates held out by waiting hands. The leftover pastry, Algernon explained, had been wrapped around vegetarian sausages and caramelised red onion and then baked in the oven for twenty minutes, and both pie and rolls should be enjoyed with a healthy serving of homemade onion gravy, reheated in Julie’s microwave and poured into a chipped china gravy jug supplied by Hecate.

‘Ooh, almost forgot!’ Dimity dug into an ‘M&S’ bag at her feet. ‘Crackers! There’s eight of them, so enough for you as well, Pippa.’ She nudged at Hecate, who was seated at her left. ‘Environmentally friendly and recyclable, Hecate, so don’t say a word.’

‘I wasn’t planning on it.’ Hecate replied defensively, as she took a sip of wine, fooling nobody. Pippa laughed as the crackers were passed around the table, crossing arms with Hecate on her right and Gwen on her left and pulling hard on the count of three. All of them came away with paper crowns, (Hecate’s pink number had to be rammed on her head by an insistent Dimity) and Algie began hunting around in his for the joke, even as the the others pleaded and implored with him not to.

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, eyes twinkling. ‘What does a frog do if his car breaks down?’ He looked around the table, at expressions ranging from enraptured (Mildred) to distinctly murderous. (Hecate.) ‘He has it _toad_!’

Algie and Mildred’s roars of laughter were almost immediately drowned out by groans and protests around the table of women, and he was very nearly taken out by a well-lobbied sausage roll aimed at his head by Dimity. ‘Alright, alright! Thought it was pretty funny myself.’

‘Very funny.’ Julie groaned. ‘Now please, can we eat!’

Once they started on the meal, the hullabaloo of the last twenty minutes was replaced by a distinct hush, broken only by the scraping of knives and forks on plates as each one of them devoted their concentration to appreciating the meal at hand. And then it was not clear who was the first to speak, but they were all falling over themselves to congratulate one another on a particular dish, Hecate going out of her way to impress upon Algernon how fascinated she was by the combination of flavours he had used to fill the pie, whilst Pippa told a blushing Mildred that she had never tasted roast potatoes so crisp, and that she was sure it must be down to her expert seasoning. Wine glasses were emptied and then refilled, and what had seemed a mountain of food decreased steadily as they took it in turns to pass around dishes. Pippa and Dimity were both quick to prevent any attempt by Hecate to take off her paper crown, and Pippa alternated between discussing the neighbourhood and Italian opera with Gwen, and dissecting the food with Hecate, who in her appraisal seemed to find nothing to critique as she talked with Pippa, occasionally setting down her knife and fork to gesture with her hands at a particular dish, even laughing a little when Gwen reminded her of her first attempt at puff pastry, which apparently had separated and melted into two dismal piles of butter and flour. Halfway through the meal, Mildred clambered down from her chair and climbed onto Pippa’s lap, the top of her head tickling Pippa’s chin as Pippa attempted to eat the rest of her meal around the small girl.

And as the meal went on, Pippa tried to devote her attention equally around the table, answered questions politely and asked thoughtful ones herself, even listened to Mildred as she explained a particularly complicated dream she had had involving her friends, her teachers, and her hair growing uncontrollably. But through all of it, her attention kept wandering back to Hecate; the brush of their wrists as they ate sending sparks shooting up Pippa’s arm. She felt as though she were basking in the warmth of Hecate’s presence, of the nearness of her and the low rumble of her voice and the animation of her features as their conversation flowed and meandered as though they had been familiar to each other for twenty-four years rather than twenty-four hours.

Their conversation was briefly interrupted as the adults with fully-functioning ankles began to clear away dinner plates, and Hecate was dispatched upstairs to retrieve the brownies from Pippa’s suitcase. Dimity’s Christmas pudding (an old family recipe, she explained, and containing so much rum that Mildred was forbidden from having more than a slither,) was set alight on the table, Mildred gasping and clapping her hands together at the licking blue flames. There was no brandy butter, but Julie had dug a large carton of _Carte Dior_ out of her freezer, and inexplicably the combination of brownies, Christmas pudding and vanilla ice cream proved to be incredibly tasty.

Eventually though, not one of them could manage another bite, despite Dimity attempting to goad them all into seconds.

‘Go on.’ Dimity wafted the plate of brownies underneath Hecate’s nose. ‘They’ll go to waste.’

‘Get them _away_.’ Hecate groaned, a hand at her stomach. ‘How you can even contemplate brownies at this point is beyond me.’

‘I know.’ Dimity sighed, as she helped herself to another. ‘And what’s more, I know I’ll suffer for it later. I blame you, Pippa. It’s criminal to make them taste this good.’ There were noises of agreement around the table, and Pippa glowed under their praise.

‘Well, I have to say this is one of the best Christmas dinners I’ve ever eaten.’ She replied, scraping back her chair and attempting to ease Mildred away from her full stomach. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be moving from this chair any time soon.’

‘Agreed.’ Julie nodded lazily refilling their glasses for what must now be the fifth time. Pippa’s head was buzzing pleasantly, and everything in the room seeming bright and pretty. Hecate seemed especially pretty, and Pippa brought a hand to rest on the back of her chair, fingertips skimming her back. Hecate flashed her eyes at Pippa, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she leant forward and engaged Algernon in conversation on the habitat conservation event he was apparently planning on hosting near Hampstead ponds.

Gwen alone out of all of them had managed to get up out of her seat, and was scanning the shelves of the shop, running her fingers along the spines of books.

‘So, what should we do?’ Julie asked, setting the bottle down and leaning back in her chair. ‘I have ‘Monopoly’? Or ‘Articulate’?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Hecate shook her head. ‘I haven’t recovered from the last time you made me play.’

‘No, I’m not sure a board game’s quite the thing.’ Gwen opined, as she finally alighted on what she was looking for and pulled it from the shelves. ‘Now, a little _performance_, that’s what we need.’ She waved her book – Pippa saw the title, recognised it as a collection of Christmas swing standards. She risked a small smirk at Hecate, whose eyes were widening in horror as she realised what the afternoon – no, almost evening now - was coming to.

‘Lovely, Gwen.’ Julie beamed. ‘You’ll start us off, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Gwen twinkled back at her, before saying with a loud, exaggerated air. ‘I will of course need an accompanist.’

‘Dimity can do it.’ Hecate replied, not missing a beat.

‘Absolutely not.’ Dimity spluttered, almost choking on her drink.

‘No, definitely not.’ Gwen agreed. ‘No offence intended Dimity, but I did try and tell your mother that the piano was never going to be your forte.’

‘And I thank you every day for finally convincing her.’ Dimity raised a glass and brought an arm around Julie, who leant into her embrace.

‘Well I can’t play a note, but I know you’ve been giving Mildred lessons, Gwen...’ Julie said, a teasing note in her voice. Mildred’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently, almost nutting Pippa in the chin as she did so.

‘Well then.’ Gwen said brightly, tucking the song book under her arm and surveying the rest of them with her beady gaze, before her gaze alighted casually on the woman to Pippa’s right. ‘I suppose that just leaves you, Hecate.’ Hecate stiffened.

‘Out of the question. I haven’t played since…’

‘Last week.’ Julie supplied promptly. Hecate shot a glare at her across the table.

‘Even if that were true, I have made my feelings on Christmas music quite clear…’

‘Oh, come on Hecate.’ Gwen made her way over gaily. ‘What is the point of keeping a piano in a bookshop if I can’t entertain now and again?’

‘What _is _the point of keeping a piano in a bookshop?’ Hecate muttered mutinously. But when Gwen presented her with the songbook, she got up to cheers from the rest of the table, and sat herself down primly at the piano.

‘Alright.’ She grumbled in resignation. ‘Which one shall we start with?’ Gwen tilted her head thoughtfully.

‘Number eight, I think.’ She decided, moving to stand next to the piano. ‘Appropriate, after all.’

‘Right you are.’ Hecate’s reply was ironic, but she turned the pages, and her fingers began to move naturally over the yellowed keys, the bookshop filling with mellow chords and lively melody. Gwen smiled beatifically at her audience, swaying gently in time to the music.

‘_The snow is snowing and the wind is blowing_

_But I can weather the storm!_

_What do I care how much may it storm?’_

_I’ve got my love to keep me warm.’_

Gwen had a rich, low contralto, warm-toned and beautiful. And as Hecate grew less self-conscious, her playing grew more dextrous, and Pippa could hear her pivoting to improvise on the melody.

_‘I can’t remember a worse December,_

_Just watch those icicles form!_

_What do I care if icicles form?_

_I’ve got my love to keep me warm.’_

They all joined in with ‘Let it snow’, ‘White Christmas’ and ‘Jingle Bells.’ Gwen and Mildred sang ‘Baby it’s cold outside’ together very sweetly, whilst Algernon downed his glass of wine and did a rather soulful, if tuneless, rendition of _‘_What a Wonderful World.’ And when Hecate (beaten down by popular demand) finally accepted the inevitable and began to play ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’, Mildred bounced up and sat next to her at the piano, playing the right-hand an octave up with only a few mistakes.

After Julie and Dimity had good naturedly refused all of Miss Bat’s efforts to persuade them to sing solo, the geriatric diva’s eyes swivelled to Pippa.

‘_Aha, _Miss Pentangle.’ She pronounced triumphantly. ‘I happen to know you have a rather lovely voice, because I heard you singing along to the radio the other day in your café.’ Pippa cringed, setting down her glass and trying to dig up a good excuse from her brain, which the wine and rich food seemed to have softened to slush.

‘I – my ankle…’

‘Is not connected to your vocal chords.’ Gwen pointed out. ‘Oh, humour an old woman, Miss Pentangle. After all, who can say that this won’t be my last Christmas.’

‘You say that every year.’ Dimity laughed, shaking her head at her antics. But Gwen’s gaze was piercing and her tone brooked no argument.

‘Oh alright.’ Pippa sighed. ‘But I’ll have to do it sitting down.’

‘Sit next to Hecate.’ Julie said, with an air of exaggerated innocence. ‘That way you can see the words, too.’

Hecate’s head whipped around, and there was a furious, silent exchange between her and Julie that Pippa couldn’t quite decipher. But then Hecate turned around in her seat towards Pippa, her gaze softening as she tilted her head in an invitation to come closer. Relieved, Pippa got to her feet to the sound of cheers and wine glasses being banged on the table and limped over to where Hecate was sat, slipping onto the piano stool until they were shoulder to shoulder, arms brushing.

‘What do you want to sing?’ Hecate asked, and Pippa took another sip of wine, her throat all of a sudden feeling awfully dry.

‘Um…’ Suddenly every suitable song seemed to fly from her head, and she racked her brains desperately.

‘Perhaps this one?’ Hecate inquired softly, as she began to run her fingers over the keys in familiar-sounding chords. Pippa smiled, looking over Hecate’s shoulder at the lyrics.

‘Yeah, okay.’ Hecate gave her an introduction, and Pippa took a deep breath, a fortifying sip of wine and began.

_‘Maybe it’s much too early in the game_

_Oh, but I thought I’d ask you just the same_

_What are you doing New Year’s, New Year’s Eve?_

_Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight_

_When it’s exactly twelve o’clock at night_

_What are you doing New Year’s, New Year’s Eve?’_

The key modulated, and Pippa leant further into Hecate, ostensibly to get a better look at the words – but she heard Hecate’s intake of breath and the slight falter in her playing before she picked up again.

_‘Oh, maybe I’m crazy to suppose_

_That I’d ever be the one you chose_

_Out of the thousand invitations you receive.’_

Pippa leant back slightly, tried to get a little space between her and the charged air between them. But all she succeeded in doing was holding more of Hecate in her sight, taking in her look of careful concentration as her fingers worked lightly, swinging across the interlude and into the last verse. Pippa took another sip of her drink, and feeling bolder, turned so that she was looking directly at Hecate.

_Oh but in case I stand one little chance,_

_Here comes the jackpot question in advance._

_What are you doing, New Year’s?_

_New Year’s Eve?_

_What are you doing New Year’s Eve?_

Pippa placed the last syllable carefully, deftly, half-afraid of the corniness of asking the question, yet nonetheless knowing that whatever she might do, however she might sing, she would be asking it. Hecate’s fingers moved over the final few notes, her right hand running up the keys in triplets until she ended the piece on a quiet, delicate glass chord, its chime floating and settling around them, fading into the early evening air. Hecate was still, her fingers still resting on the keys, but Pippa could see her looking up from beneath her eyelashes; saw the deliberate rise and fall of her shoulders. Pippa’s answering smile was gentle, and she reached to brush a strand of hair from where it had fallen over Hecate’s eyes.

A breakout of enthusiastic applause pierced their bubble, and Pippa turned around on her seat, grinning at the others and trying to ignore the race of her heart.

‘Beautiful.’ Gwen’s eyes were shining, and she clasped her hands together. ‘I was quite transported. And to think you dislike Christmas music so much, Hecate.’

The woman in question was still turned towards the piano, and when Hecate murmured her reply, Pippa was sure that only she could hear her.

‘Hmm. Perhaps it depends on the singer.’

* * *

Eventually they roused themselves, Julie and Dimity volunteering to wash up the brownie plates and the rest of them moving upstairs, Hecate going to make a pot of tea and – possibly, she warned the group – retrieving some chocolate that she thought might have fallen somewhere down the back of her cupboard. Mildred meanwhile was running between the two flats, having somehow found a sprig of mistletoe somewhere in the shop, and was now attempting to entrap various combinations of adults, most of whom were too sleepy from numerous glasses of wine to resist her. Only Hecate had been completely successful in avoiding her, possessed with an almost preternatural ability to sense the approach of the tiny assassin.

By the time Hecate emerged with a tea-tray, however, Pippa was the only conscious person in the room. Both Algernon and Gwen had dozed off almost as soon as they had sat down in Hecate’s room, whilst Julie and Dimity had not yet reappeared from washing up – and Mildred’s whereabouts were, as Pippa informed her hostess, anyone’s guess. Hecate seemed to accept this state of affairs with equanimity, pouring them both tea and settling herself on the sofa next to Pippa.

Pippa winced a little as she sat down, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position. The painkillers Narcissus Nightshade had supplied her with had evidently worn off, and even the wine wasn’t quite enough to dull the insistent throb of her ankle.

‘Everything alright?’ Pippa looked up to see Hecate scrutinising her. The light in Hecate's living room was dim, but she could still make out a hint of worry in her eyes.

_‘_Yeah, fine.’ Pippa grimaced. ‘Just…’ She gestured at her leg in frustration.

‘Give it here.’ Pippa looked at her in surprise.

‘Give what here?’

‘Your ankle.’ Hecate gestured for it, setting down her wine glass. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she had an over-brightness about her that suggested she was not unaffected by how much they had all drunk that afternoon. A little uncertain as to what to expect, Pippa proffered her leg to Hecate, who brought it onto her lap. Pippa gasped as Hecate began to work at the muscles of her ankle with gentle fingers.

‘Oh – ahh, she sighed, pressing her lips together and trying to compose herself. ‘That – that feels really good.’ Hecate hummed in acknowledgment, moving her fingers in soft circles.

‘My mother’s ankles were always swollen, after concerts.’ She explained, her voice low and her head bent. ‘I used to do this for her.’

Pippa’s head lolled back against the arm of the sofa, and she was horrified to find herself blushing and weak-kneed under the attentions of Hecate’s long fingers. Anxious to find a distracting topic of conversation, she cast her eyes out of the window. It was dark outside now, the falling snow now visible only where it crossed the glare of the streetlamps. It had settled deep, almost reaching the shopfront windows of _Pentangle’s_.

‘It’s funny, I hadn’t quite realised how much of the shop you can see from here.’ Pippa commented, looking fondly at her pink passion project. ‘But look, that’s my kitchen. You could see everything I get up too, if you wanted.’ She turned to grin at Hecate – whose cheeks were now scarlet. She made an unconvincing sound of agreement, ducking her head as she redirected her attention to her ankle. Cogs of realisation began to turn in Pippa’s head, and she bit her lip to suppress her smile, resuming her gaze out of the window.

‘You know, I used to see you sitting in this window and imagine what you must be like. I thought you were so mysterious – I must have made up stories in my head about you dozens of times these past few months. I didn’t know your name, so I just called you ‘The Woman.’’ She smiled in self-deprecation, risking a glance at Hecate, whose hands had slowed.

‘I suppose’ Hecate answered indistinctly, still not quite meeting Pippa’s eye ‘we must have been just missing each other all year.’

‘Well, Pippa put down her wine glass to look at the other woman carefully, resting her forearm on the head of the sofa. ‘Fancy that.’

Pippa was so caught up in her realisation that she didn’t notice Mildred’s approach until she was right beside her.

‘Look.’ Mildred waved the small bundle of twigs in front of them excitedly. ‘Mistletoe. I got you!’

‘So you did.’ Pippa laughed, glad to have a moment to collect herself. She bent down and kissed the child on her sticky little cheek. ‘There you go. That’s from the both of us.’ Mildred giggled.

‘Now you two.’ Mildred insisted, scrambling up the sofa arm behind Hecate and lifting the branch over their heads.

‘Mildred Hubble, you little delinquent.’ Hecate growled, looking at Pippa in alarm. Pippa smiled reassuringly, as her heart skipped and picked up pace.

‘You know…it is the rules, Hecate?’ Hecate’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘I – I mean, really…’ Pippa bit her lip, feeling a little deflated at Hecate’s reluctance, and looked up at Mildred, who was still hovering in anticipation.

‘Sorry Mildred, I think this is one Christmas tradition that…’

Pippa didn’t finish her sentence, cut off as Hecate leant across the sofa and brushed her lips against Pippa’s. And before Pippa could respond or process any coherent thought other than how soft Hecate’s lips were, Hecate had ducked her head and pulled away.

As Pippa blinked and gaped foolishly at the other woman, Hecate shook her head as if to clear it and turned to the little girl giggling above them.

‘Mildred Hubble, one word of this to your mother and I will turn you into a Boxing Day stew. Understood?’

‘Understood.’ Mildred hopped down from the sofa. Hecate turned back to Pippa, a question in her eyes to which Pippa could only nod a hapless ‘yes’ to. Hecate smiled genuinely, a beautiful, radiant smile that seemed to break across her face like the dawn.

‘Right.’

Pippa could hear Julie and Dimity coming up the stairs from the bookshop, Julie flushed and a little unsteady. ‘I think it’s time for us to go home, poppet. We’re seeing Auntie Mo tomorrow, remember?’

Mildred sighed wistfully, but nodded, bounding over to Pippa and giving her a last cuddle.

‘Bye Pippa. See you soon.’

‘Very soon.’ Julie agreed, and Pippa got to her feet to hug her. ‘You can’t keep us away from _Pentangle’s_.’

‘You won’t be able to keep anyone away if _Narcissus Nightshade_ puts you on her Instagram.’ Dimity added, to which Pippa nodded distractedly. There were flutters of excitement low in her stomach, and they had nothing to do with her new celebrity client.

‘Bye, you three. It was lovely to meet you all.’

‘Thank you, HB.’ Mildred wrapped her arms tightly around Hecate, who tolerated the embrace stiffly, myriad emotions playing across her face.

‘Alright then, come on Miss. Bedtime.’ Julie gently peeled her daughter off her neighbour. ‘Take care, Hecate.’ She smiled, squeezing her arm. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Well, it was not as dreadful as I feared.’ Hecate sniffed, and Dimity roared with laughter, clapping her on the back.

‘Stay well HB. See you in the new year.’

‘Argh!’ The four adults turned around just as Mildred flung herself at the elderly couple, startling them both awake.

‘Bye Miss Bat.’ She said, obliviously cheerful. ‘Bye Mr Rowan-Webb. This has been the best Christmas ever.’

‘Goodness, is that the time?’ Algernon glanced at his watch. ‘We had best be disappearing ourselves. Lovely to see you all again.’

‘Wait.’ Gwen made her way over to Hecate, planting a kiss on her startled tenant’s cheek. ‘Happy Christmas Hecate. I’ll shut up the shop on my way out - do enjoy yourself this evening.’

‘I -‘ but Gwen didn’t give her time to reply. With a final wave to the pair of them, the flat emptied, until it was just Hecate and Pippa, standing beneath the dim spotlight of a lampshade.

Pippa thought that the other woman must surely be able to hear her heart thumping; it felt as though it could burst through her chest at any given moment.

‘That was really…’

As she looked for the right words, Hecate turned to look at Pippa, her eyes dark and glittering in the low light and her lipstick still a little smudged from where she had kissed her before.

Abandoning her sentence and all desire to finish it, Pippa reached up just as Hecate bent her head and their lips met, Pippa bringing her hands to cup Hecate’s cheeks as Hecate’s settled on her waist.

Pippa’s lips parted with a breathy, contented sigh as she leant in, Hecate’s mouth warm and red and sweet with wine, her arms coming around Pippa to press the two of them closer. Pippa took a step – and let out a low cry of pain.

‘What?’ Hecate broke away, a little breathless. ‘What is it?’ Pippa shook her head.

‘Nothing – my stupid ankle.’

‘Ah.’ Hecate stopped and considered her for a moment. Then, ducking her head, she caught Pippa’s lips in her own again as in one fluid movement she lifted Pippa off the ground and deposited her on the sofa with a gentle ease; not once breaking her concentration even as Pippa responded with eagerness, looping her arms around Hecate’s neck and pulling her down until she was half on top of her.

Pippa opened her mouth a little beneath Hecate and felt the other woman’s tongue reach out to brush against her own, and her head spun with the competing sensations - the floral notes of Hecate’s shampoo; the occasional brush of their cheekbones; Hecate’s hands lingering around her hips, occasionally climbing to trace at the outline of her waist.

‘Why didn’t we do this last night?’ She gasped, as Hecate’s mouth moved to the corner of her lips, to her jaw, to the underneath of her chin. ‘Or this morning? Or this afternoon?’

‘Unclear.’ Hecate’s words were muffled in her neck, and Pippa caught her chin impatiently, drawing her mouth back upwards until they were kissing, Hecate’s mouth languid and teasingly slow against her own. She moved her hands down and over the bumps of Hecate’s ribcage in an attempt to ground herself, only for Hecate to seize her wrists and pin them above her head on the arm of the sofa, breaking away from their kiss to regard Pippa with pupils blown wide with desire. Pippa whimpered softly under the intensity of her gaze, then louder as Hecate lowered her lips to her neck once more, her kisses hot and sharp.

‘It’s not too fast, is it?’ Pippa gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as she squirmed underneath Hecate. ‘It’s alright if it’s too fast – I – I…’ Hecate’s teeth grazed at her pulse-point and Pippa broke off, arching against her. Hecate’s eyes were wicked as she drew back, releasing Pippa’s wrists.

‘We could stop.’ She said, her attempt at polite detachment only slightly belied by the heaviness of her breathing – and by hands that came to rest on Pippa’s thighs, thumbs playing across the boundary where her dress had ridden up. The tips of Hecate’s fingers skimmed beneath the fabric, and Pippa gasped. ‘We could stop…’

Pippa didn’t let her finish, pulling her back down and burying her fingers in Hecate’s hair. For the first time since they had met yesterday, amidst strangeness and interruptions and other people, Pippa allowed herself to fall freely into the feeling of wanting Hecate. She felt dizzy with it, the tangling of their limbs and the moulding of their bodies drawing her further and further into desire until there was nothing else but Hecate pressed against her and nothing Pippa could do save sigh helplessly against her mouth.

She brought her legs up to bracket Hecate’s waist, her dress riding higher; she could feel Hecate’s hands at her hips through the thin material of her tights and then Pippa couldn’t bear it any longer, her fingers fumbling as she helped Hecate bring her dress over her head, words of encouragement melting into each other until they were a series of incoherent sounds on rapid breaths. Hecate didn’t seem to mind, her mouth moving to the arc of Pippa’s shoulder, her hands mapping out the warm curve of her waist. Pippa shivered beneath her touch.

‘Bed.’ She managed to wrap her mouth around the consonants. ‘I – bed. Now.’ She wasn’t sure why she was so insistent on the idea, but it had something to do with how overheated the living room was with the gas fire, and how black Hecate’s eyes were in the cheap electric light, and how the combination of the two was melting Pippa like snow. Fairly certain that grown women weren’t supposed to succumb to the reckless giddiness of a sofa and the heated determination of another woman’s mouth and hands, Pippa had a vague idea that perhaps a bed could lend her mad encounter with Hecate Hardbroom the semblance of normalcy.

Luckily Hecate seemed to understand and murmured her assent, drawing Pippa unsteadily to her feet. Pippa leant into Hecate, reaching up until she was kissing her again, and then Hecate was walking backwards, half carrying Pippa back with her, and Pippa was faced with the dilemma of either keeping them both steady and upright or reaching out and wrapping her arms around Hecate. She chose the latter, and they lurched perilously backwards. Pippa’s back hit a wall or a door or a tall hard surface of some kind, and then Hecate’s body was pressed against her own, pinning her to the paintwork. Pippa realised through the hazy dissolution of her thoughts and around the feeling of the other woman’s mouth skimming the tops of her breasts that Hecate was still far too dressed, and her fingers began to scrabble at her buttons, working to undo her cardigan even as she grew increasingly distracted by the novelty of soft, newly-exposed skin beneath her hands.

Just as she reached to peel Hecate’s top from her shoulders, Hecate brought her hands underneath Pippa’s thighs and lifted her off her feet. Pippa lost her purchase, and for what was now the third time in the space of a single day they went crashing to the floor, Pippa with one arm around Hecate’s neck and one leg still hooked around her waist.

‘This is getting ridiculous.’ Hecate panted, propping herself up and regarding Pippa with a heady mix of exasperation and desire. ‘Do you make a habit of this? Falling over and injuring yourself?’

‘I’m uninjured.’ Pippa reassured her, flexing her limbs just to make sure. The two of them appeared to have fallen into the hallway, and under the stark overhead light Pippa could see her the smudge of her own lipstick around Hecate’s mouth; the angles of Hecate’s collar bone; the wild curling of hair around her face where Pippa had tugged at it in impatience. Suddenly shivering in the cold draught of Hecate’s flat, for the first time that evening Pippa felt unsure, and saw her own uncertainty reflected in Hecate’s eyes. They both caught their breath, and Pippa felt some of the mist surrounding her thoughts clear. Was this how things should start between them? Was this in fact a start? There were a million and one things Hecate didn’t know about her, and a lot more she didn’t know about Hecate – and somehow it had only just been twenty-four hours since Hecate first sought sanctuary in her shop, since Pippa had stopped referring to her in her head as ‘The Woman’. As she hesitated, Hecate seemed to become aware of how exposed she was and shifted in discomfort, as if trying to cover herself. But something in the nervousness of the action soothed Pippa’s worries. She smiled, bringing her hand up to cup Hecate’s jaw.

‘But you know,’ She continued lightly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she brought Hecate’s forehead to rest against her own. ‘In fairness, you have been falling with me all day.’

Pippa cupped Hecate’s cheek, felt the other woman take a deep, shaking beneath the palm of her hand, and then she closed what little distance was left between them. Her nose bumped gently against Hecate’s, their kisses slower, sweeter and more tender than before, until Pippa got to her knees and then her feet and Hecate followed, her hands tangling in Pippa’s hair, cradling the back of her head. And then her arm was below the crook of Pippa’s knees and she swept her off her feet, carrying her the final few steps into her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this fic, especially given the long periods between updates...I started this in a pre-covid England, stressed about mocks, continued it through one of the weirdest years of all time whilst writing my dissertation and then through taking my finals in my bedroom, and am finishing it (soon, hopefully I promise) as a graduate!! Who knows, maybe by the time I post chapter 5 I will even have a job... Anyway, I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. As ever, please tell me below if you enjoyed!


	5. Good Morning Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more. I'm sorry, I tried my hardest to finish it here, but it just didn't make sense as one chapter. I PROMISE that this fic will be finished by next week, you have my word. But in the meantime....
> 
> Also thanks so much to everyone who left nice messages after the last chapter. I really appreciate them all!

Lying tangled amongst Hecate’s sheets, dazed and trying desperately to regain her equilibrium, Pippa could faintly register the sound of taps running in the bathroom; heard water splashing in the basin. They had not stirred for quite some time, contentedly sprawled and panting on the narrow bed, wrapped up in each other; trading languorous kisses as they caught their breath, hands reaching to stroke up and down arms and across warm, soft stomachs.

And then Hecate had placed one last kiss on her cheek and had got out of bed, feet padding quietly across her bedroom floor, the beautiful, long expanse of her back and the curve of her hips soon covered by a dressing gown that she tightened around her waist.

‘I’ll just – freshen up.’ She had looked slightly abashed, her cheeks mottled pink, her hair still half up but the rest pulled out from her bun and dishevelled around her face. Pippa had nodded, not yet wholly capable of speech, and had watched Hecate leave, her bare calves still visible beneath her robe.

Pippa still was not sure that she could speak – was not sure that she could move, even. She brought a hand between her legs, felt where Hecate’s mouth and fingers had been not so long before and keened softly into the empty room. She felt as though she had been opened; as though Hecate’s touch had somehow physically unravelled her until she was spooled into the mattress. _I’m undone_. The notion made her smile, and she stretched out her limbs, wincing slightly at the protest of her muscles. _Hecate Hardbroom has undone me_.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, Pippa couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. As though she were a romantic heroine in a Regency novel – and yet she supposed Hecate had quite literally swept her off her feet. But a Regency heroine would have demurred, and prevaricated, and contented herself with heated looks and a stolen kiss. Pippa had felt that first brush of Hecate’s lips against her own and had not been able to stop herself until she had felt all of the other woman against herself; touching her and kissing her until she felt her tremble and whine, until she had heard her cry out her name on a torrent of pleas and endearments, over and over again. She was not sure she had ever felt so in need of another person’s touch; so desperate to come together with someone that even now, with Hecate in the bathroom, it felt like a physical ache, as though she were tethered to Hecate and a thread was tugging painfully between them.

_Two nights_. She told her romantic, racing heart, firmly. _You have known this woman for two nights. _

Her heart, beating loudly against her chest, did not seem to hear.

The door opened, Hecate slipping quietly back into the room and closing the door behind her. Walking to the bed, she threw a pile of clothes onto Pippa’s lap.

‘I got your pyjamas from your suitcase; I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Mmm. Thanks.’ Pippa replied lazily, propping herself on an elbow and smiling up at Hecate, who looked at her in thinly veiled amusement.

‘And you’re free to use the bathroom now.’

‘Wonderful.’ Pippa stretched, reaching an arm up to hook around Hecate’s neck, pulling her back down onto the bed.

‘Are you honestly not tired?’ Hecate’s voice was light, her tone politely disbelieving as she cupped the firm weight of Pippa’s breast in her hand, her thumb moving in lazy circles. Pippa hummed with pleasure, settling herself against Hecate until they were both lying back against the pillows together, wrapping an arm around her waist.

‘Well, yes, I am.’ She admitted, bringing up Hecate’s hand from her breast to kiss at her knuckles and trying not to think on how natural the gesture seemed. ‘I just don’t want this to end. This Christmas – it’s felt enchanted, somehow. Like we’re under a spell. I’m worried that I’ll wake up on Boxing Day and this will all have been a dream.’

She tilted her head towards Hecate, trying to communicate her need for solid reassurance. Hecate, seeming to understand, kissed her; entwined her hand in Pippa’s hair as her other arm came to pull Pippa closer, until the kiss came to a natural end. Still, Pippa left playful pecks on Hecate’s mouth as finally she pulled her hair out of its bun, running her hands through it until it fell around her face.

‘Well at any rate,’ Hecate leaned away, adjusting herself on the bed. ‘we’re into Boxing Day now.’

Pippa gasped.

‘We’re not, are we?’ Hecate showed her the time on her phone as proof, and Pippa blew out her cheeks. ‘God. Well then, perhaps we really ought to go to bed.’

‘Mmm.’ Hecate’s hand came to cradle her jaw, and she kissed her again, deep and searching - and Pippa groaned in reply against her open mouth, reaching to untie the cord of Hecate’s dressing gown as she pulled her back down on top of her.

But before they could go any further, the room was plunged into darkness, the faint hum of the central heating slowing and grinding to a halt. Hecate sat up with a start, reaching across the bedside table, and soon the pallor of her features was illuminated by the light of the torch on her phone.

‘The power’s gone.’ She said, her brow knitted in a frown. ‘Must be a tripped fuse.’ She checked her phone again. ‘Ah.’

‘Ah?’ Pippa asked, still breathless.

‘Power cut. All the snow, apparently.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa sat up again, shivering slightly. She was sure she couldn’t be feeling the effects of their lack of heating yet, but without the warmth of Hecate and with the lingering glow of the wine having long since faded, she seemed to feel the chill in the air more keenly. Her teeth began to chatter quietly, and she pulled Hecate’s covers tighter around herself.

Hecate meanwhile was still scrolling on her phone.

‘It’s probably too late at night to affect many people - oh, there’s Julie awake at least; she says Dimity is going to check on Gwen and Algie in the morning, and – ah..’ she trailed off, cheeks colouring. ‘Never mind.’

‘Never mind what?’ Pippa asked, leaning forward until her chin was resting on the other woman’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her middle. Hecate raised her eyes to the ceiling.

‘She says she’d invite us over, but she’s sure we’re…’ she seemed to go even redder ‘_otherwise occupied._’

‘Hmm.’ Pippa teased, pressing a kiss to Hecate’s shoulder. ‘Well guessed Julie.’ Hecate gave a half smile, that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Pippa looked up at her carefully. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Fine.’ Hecate exhaled, but when she looked down at Pippa her face genuinely seemed more relaxed. ‘But perhaps you’re right. It’s late, we’re both shattered. Let’s go to bed.’ Pippa sighed, but nodded, turning away and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

‘Alright.’ Dressing hastily so as to be out of the cold, she pulled a t-shirt over her head and shimmied into a pair of pyjama bottoms. She got to her feet, and mindful of her ankle, began to pick her way across Hecate’s bedroom, nimbly avoiding various pieces of discarded clothing. ‘Back soon.’

By the time she returned, however; fumbling her way through the dark and feeling her way onto the bed, Pippa could hear Hecate breathing deeply and evenly in sleep. Careful not to wake her, Pippa manoeuvred herself between the sheets and huddled beneath the duvet, trying to rub some warmth into her arms and legs, which were ice cold from the walk to the bathroom and back.

It was no good, however. Hecate’s duvet was thin, and the temperature of the room seemed to have dropped by at least several degrees, then seemed to plummet further until Pippa could swear that she could see a cold mist rising around the bed. Her shivers grew more pronounced, and Hecate shifted beside her, rolling over with a groan. She opened an eye.

‘You’re cold.’

‘Sorry.’ Pippa’s teeth were clacking together rather pathetically now. ‘Do you have a spare blanket, or something?’

‘There are the blankets I gave you for the sofa...’ Hecate brought a hand to rub at her eye blearily, her forehead knitted in a sleepy frown. Eventually, she sighed.

‘Come here.’ Pippa did as she was told, shuffling closer to Hecate, who brought an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, bringing one of her legs over Pippa’s until she was practically wrapped around her, her chin resting on Pippa’s shoulder. ‘Is that better?’ Pippa shivered again, but this time not from the cold.

‘Much.’

‘Good.’ Hecate’s voice was thick with sleep, muffled by Pippa’s neck. ‘Night.’

‘Goodnight, Hecate.’ Pippa could feel her own exhaustion creep up on her, the day’s events blurring and fading to black with the warm weight of Hecate’s body against her own.

* * *

When Pippa woke, her limbs aching with cold and stiff with exertion, a headache nudging at the back of her skull, it was almost light, and Hecate was not next to her. There were several more blankets on top of her now - it appeared that Hecate had not forgotten her sensitivity to the temperature - but Hecate’s side of the bed was cool beneath her touch. Clearly the other woman had been up for quite some time.

Pippa propped herself up on her elbow, trying not to feel hurt. It was ridiculous to want to wake beside Hecate – who probably had her own ideas of how she wanted to spend the morning. And it was not as though they had not spent enough time together already; as though every waking hour had not been filled with conversation or cooking or making love. But again, that feeling of a thread tugging sharply and painfully somewhere in her middle returned.

_Stop it_. Pippa told herself, sternly. It had been foolish to think that last night, but even more foolish to think it in the cold, sober light of day, without the heady rush of red wine and oxytocin.

It was a fault of hers, she knew. To romanticise, and daydream, and to want everything to be grand and exciting. Pippa didn’t entirely mind it – it was the same impulse that had driven her to set up her own bakery – but it tended to crop up when she was hashing out the demise of a relationship. But this was different, surely. Whatever uncertainty there was surrounding her relationship (or lack thereof) with Hecate, there was no doubt that it had been _her _who had consumed Pippa, who had filled her with longing for her scent, and the sound of her low voice, and the feeling she had when they touched that somehow they had both been designed with the other in mind; as though they fitted together perfectly, as though the weight of Hecate against her and the brush of their skin completed some kind of cosmic electrical circuit.

_Shit_.

Pippa buried her head in her hands. Definitely far too romantic, especially given that Hecate had still not reappeared. And yet it was not her fault, Pippa decided. It was unfair to place someone such as herself in such a ludicrously romantic position on Christmas day – with walks in the snow, and erotically-charged chess matches - and even a romantic Christmas song for _god’s sake _– without finding herself halfway to falling in love by breakfast the next morning. Not least because of how quickly Hecate had been able to locate almost every one of her weaknesses and make her come apart what was quite frankly ridiculous number of times over a period of hours, to say nothing of how she had wrapped herself around Pippa afterwards.

_Because you were cold_. Pippa reminded herself. She would not fall into the old traps again; she refused. In real world terms, this was simply a…a very good first date. One where she had accidentally bumped into the other woman’s entire found family, but nonetheless a beginning. Nothing of falling in love yet. And ignoring the feeling that thinking this way of Hecate was somehow even falser than her daydreaming before, Pippa pulled back the covers and got out of bed, pleased to find her ankle supporting a good deal more weight than it had done the previous day.

She looked around Hecate’s room, having not had much of a chance to the previous night. It was perhaps even more spartan than her living room, with dark wooden furniture, a black, disused fireplace and heavy curtains. Pippa pulled one back a few centimetres, peering out at the street below. It appeared that the street cleaners of London had been dispatched and put back to work – the roads had been cleared, and paths made on the pavement. People walked hurriedly along the streets for Boxing Day walks on Hampstead Heath, or to reach the Boxing Day sales on Regent Road, and Pippa couldn’t help but feel that the bubble that had encased her and Hecate yesterday had been pricked. She pulled the curtains the rest of the way, suddenly impatient to let the light in.

There were few Christmas cards on Hecate’s windowsill. An old-fashioned Victorian card from Gwen and Algie, a surprisingly good hand-drawn effort from Mildred – and one depicting a particularly grumpy snowman, with its arms folded across its snow torso and its face set in a scowl. Inside was a printed message: _A very merry Christmas from all of us on the editorial team! _Beneath, however, was a handwritten message in neat, swooping script: ‘_I hope you’re keeping well, Hecate. Let me know if you’re around for a coffee in the New Year. And remember, your column is waiting for you if ever you wish to return. With best wishes, Ada.’_

Pippa smiled at that. She supposed she couldn’t be the only one hankering for a return of Joy Constance’s Weekend Column – although what a strange way to feel, now that she knew Hecate. Still, it was nice to know that there was at least one editor looking out for Hecate, and not just ‘Joy’.

The door opened, and Pippa started, setting down the card guiltily.

‘Only me.’ Hecate had the breakfast tray in her hands; a pot of coffee, milk, sugar and a plate of yesterday’s muffins stacked carefully around each other.

‘Breakfast in bed?’ Pippa could feel the corners of her mouth quirk upwards, a warm feeling bubbling low in her stomach. Hecate shrugged, offering Pippa a lopsided half-smile of her own as she deposited the tray onto the bed.

‘Sorry it took so long. The power’s still not back on, so I had to make the coffee on the stove – and I didn’t want to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully…’

‘It’s lovely.’ Pippa could hardly stop herself from smiling, now. It suddenly seemed so petty to fret about Hecate not being there when she woke, when Hecate had made breakfast for the two of them to have in bed together.

She bounded over to the bed, taking an offered cup from Hecate and reaching out to kiss her impulsively on the cheek. Hecate’s colour deepened and she ducked her head, and the expression on her face was so utterly delightful that Pippa gave into the temptation that had first presented itself on Christmas Eve and tapped her playfully on her nose, which wrinkled beneath her touch.

‘Pippa...’ Hecate swatted her away, bringing up her coffee cup to hide her smile.

‘I couldn’t help it.’ Pippa informed her, heaping sugar into her own mug. ‘You have a wonderful nose; you must know that. It should be tapped at least once a day.’

‘If you say so.’ Hecate took a sip, but there was a tightness around her eyes, the same strain that Pippa thought she had glimpsed last night, and Pippa bit her lip, suddenly anxious as she thought of the implications of what she had said.

‘I mean, it wouldn’t have to be by me, of course. I could enlist Julie, or Mildred even…’ She trailed off, realising how ridiculous she sounded, and changed the subject quickly. ‘The street’s been cleared outside, did you see?’

‘I did.’ Hecate offered her another tense smile. ‘And the snow’s starting to thaw. I suppose you’ll be able to get a taxi home now, if you want.’ Pippa nodded, trying not to feel crushed.

‘Right.’ There was that feeling again. That their bubble had been burst, that things were prosaic and ordinary once more. ‘I suppose the trains will be running again, now I think about it. I might just go straight to Euston.’

‘Good.’ Hecate sipped from her cup again, not meeting her eyes. ‘That’s good.’ Silence fell between them again, but Pippa thought it was not entirely like the silences that had fallen between them yesterday, when it had felt as though they were comfortable enough in each other’s presence not to fill the gaps in conversation. There was an undercurrent of awkwardness to it, and Pippa wondered whether she should find something to say.

‘How long will you be gone?’ Hecate had beaten her to it.

‘Just a week. My train home is booked for New Year’s Day.’

‘Right.’ Hecate nodded. Pippa could see her fingers twitching against her coffee cup and then couldn’t bear it any longer.

‘When I get back, you should come and find me on a lunch break, some time. Or we could go out in the evening; I could show you my horrible flat.’

Hecate was silent, taking another, deep sip from her cup as she avoided Pippa’s eyes, and Pippa _knew_, she knew she should leave it, that it wasn’t fair to press Hecate so early in the morning and so early in their acquaintance, but something in the way Hecate shifted in discomfort struck a discordant note with her. ‘Is that something you’d want?’

Hecate’s head shot up, as though she were surprised to hear the question.

‘So, we would…date?’ Pippa’s hackles rose at the slight curl of Hecate’s lip as she wrapped her mouth around the single syllable, but she tried to keep her tone even.

‘If that’s what you want, then yes.’

‘Right.’

‘Right?’ This time Pippa could not conceal the hurt in her tone, and Hecate looked up at her.

‘Pippa?’

‘It’s fine, Hecate.’ Oh, she hated herself, she hated the way she sounded, speaking as though there were a bitter taste in her mouth, but now she had started retreating she couldn’t stop; stopping would mean making herself so terribly vulnerable, and without the dreamlike aura of the Christmas snowstorm surrounding them, Pippa wasn’t sure she could face it. ‘Forget I said anything.’

More silence, and this time it wasn’t just awkward, it was tense; the kind of knife-sharp silence that comes between two people when one is trying wordlessly to form sentences, any one of which could irreparably hurt the other, who is watching that person like a hawk, waiting for the inevitable moment of pain. And when Hecate spoke, it was with a quiet carefulness, each syllable delicately balanced.

‘We could date, if that’s what you want.’

‘No need to sound so enthusiastic.’ Pippa’s reply was harsher than she intended. Hecate flinched at her sarcasm, her eyes wide and wounded in a way they had no right to be.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was tight. ‘I didn’t mean to appear reticent.’

‘Yes, you did.’ To her horror, Pippa found her eyes welling, and she brushed at them furiously. ‘You’ve barely spoken a word since the power went out. What’s the matter?’ Hecate was quiet again, and Pippa looked down into her coffee cup, almost unable to believe the way their time together was slipping away. ‘Hecate, if you regret last night, that’s fine. I’m leaving anyway, we don’t have to talk about it. You were very kind to take me in, and we had both had too much wine, and I’m very sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable…’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Hecate’s hand reached for her own, and Pippa looked up, knew her eyes would be red from unshed tears. Hecate’s too seemed a little moist, but in the poor light of the room, Pippa couldn't quite tell. ‘Last night…you being here…it was wonderful. It was like you said: it was like a dream, or a spell, or a scene out of a romance novel.’ But she paused, and Pippa knew she wasn’t quite done. ‘It’s just - perhaps that’s how we should leave it – here. Like this.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa's voice sounded small even to her own ears, and she tried to lift her tone, tried to work the sound past the lump in her throat. ‘Of course, if that’s what you want.’ Hecate looked even more uncomfortable, ducking her head and directing her next sentence to their joined hands.

‘It’s just – I don’t want you to think what happened didn’t mean anything, because it did – it’s just I…I…’ she made a frustrated sound ‘I just don’t think that I can give you what you’re looking for. And I’m sorrier than I can say for it, but...’

‘Right.’ Pippa withdrew her hands, folding them across her chest. She was cold now, because if she wasn’t cold, and bitter, and _furious _with Hecate then she would most definitely cry, and her pride wouldn’t allow it. ‘I didn’t ask you to give me anything, by the way. I just asked for more time. That’s all I wanted.’ She waited, gave Hecate a beat to reply, and when she stayed silent, Pippa went on ‘But if you think we should just leave it here, then that’s fine.’

Placing her coffee cup carefully on the tray, Pippa got up and off the bed before Hecate could say anything else, picking her discarded clothing up off the floor and almost fleeing into the bathroom, where her suitcase was still lying open next to Hecate’s bath.

Having locked the door to the tiny room and leant her back against it for good measure, Pippa allowed a few angry tears to slip silently down her face, but only a few – it would be an awful thing to break down in Hecate’s bathroom when Hecate had made it so clear that Pippa was not to have a place in her life outside of the two nights she had spent in her flat.

She was so _stupid. _That was the crux of it. She knew herself, she knew her own faults and her ridiculously rose-tinted vision when it came to her romantic life and still, still she let herself believe that a one night stand with a bored, beautiful woman who had been kind enough to lend Pippa her sofa during a blizzard could bloom and blossom into something wonderful. And now this woman, this person whose company she enjoyed, who made her laugh in a way that she hadn’t in a long time and who seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her, wanted nothing more to do with her.

Or perhaps it would be worse than that. Perhaps Hecate would come into the shop and make polite, excruciating small talk, and they would exchange book recommendations and recipe tips, and Hecate would become an acquaintance to be smiled at and endured; a woman whom Pippa would duck into shops to avoid on the street.

But that kind of thinking was the worst kind to indulge in when one is trying to avoid an onslaught of tears in someone else’s bathroom, and Pippa batted the thoughts away, retrieving her jeans from where they had _finally _finished drying on Hecate’s useless sputtering radiator and fishing a warm jumper from her suitcase.

Within fifteen minutes she was dressed and packed, her face freshly washed and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, until she felt a safe distance from the woman she had been fifteen minutes before, with wet eyes and mussed hair, and who had been stupid enough to get her heart broken by someone she had met all of two days ago. And so steeling herself, Pippa unlocked and opened the bathroom door, pulling her suitcase behind her.

Hecate was waiting for her in the corridor, standing stiffly upright and still in her robe, her arms folded across her chest. Even in the gloom of the landing, her face was pale, her eyes looking even redder against her skin. Pippa couldn’t help but relax a little, the combativeness she had prepared to get herself through this goodbye with Hecate fading at the wretched expression on the other woman’s face as she opened her mouth to speak.

‘I unlocked the front door to the bookshop; you’ll be able to get out by yourself.’

‘Thanks.’ Pippa couldn’t bring herself to meet Hecate’s eyes, and instead reached for her coat and scarf by the door, spending more time than perhaps she would normally slipping into them, so that she might avoid looking at Hecate for even longer. ‘I should be off then. Thank you for having me.’ She turned to leave, and then was stopped by the feeling of Hecate’s hand encircling her wrist, her grip loose and unsure.

‘Pippa, wait.’ Pippa turned around expectantly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Pippa’s voice was gentler. ‘I’m sorry too.’

‘I just…’ Pippa could see Hecate’s throat working as she swallowed. ‘It’s not – it’s not about you.’ She gave a huff of a humourless laugh at the cliché of her words. ‘I don’t mean it like that. But it’s not that…it’s just…’ Bringing a hand up to her face, she groaned in what sounded like frustration. ‘I wish I could tell you what I mean.’

‘Then why don’t you?’ Pippa’s heart was beating a little faster now; their eyes met. Hecate bit her lip.

‘I don’t know how. I don’t know how to explain everything.’

‘Explain what?’ Pippa probed further. ‘If you could just tell me, Hecate...’ And suddenly there was nothing more in the world that Pippa wanted to do than take Hecate in her arms and have her pour out all her worries on to her shoulder. But the spell had broken, the story had ended, and Hecate was no longer the woman who had (both literally and figuratively) swept her off her feet. She was a woman Pippa had slept with and then asked on a date, who had said ‘no’, and now there was a line in the sand, a delineated boundary between them that Pippa would not cross unless asked. And as Hecate bent her head and sighed in self-defeat, Pippa did not think that she would be asked.

‘I’m sorry.’ Hecate said again, her voice low and almost hoarse. ‘You should get your train. I’m sure your mother will be happy to see you.’ Pippa nodded, and somehow seeing Hecate so forlorn made her heart feel all the heavier in her chest. Taking one last, tremulous breath, she held out a hand to Hecate that was barely shaking at all.

‘Thank you. For taking me in, for taking care of me after I fell yesterday, for – well, thank you.’ Hecate took her hand, and Pippa tried not to react beneath her touch.

‘Pippa…’ Hecate tried to reach around her for words once more, and Pippa couldn’t bear watching her so distressed. Spying a notepad and pen next on the hall table, Pippa quickly scribbled down a series of digits.

‘This is my number. I’m going away till the end of the week, now.’ She said, meeting the other woman’s eyes once more and trying desperately to ignore the jolt that shot through her body to her stomach. ‘If there’s something you want to tell me, you have time to work out what you want to say, and then call me.’ She attempted a half smile. ‘There’s always a seat for you at the bakery, anyway. I’ll work on my savoury bakes.’

‘Will you?’ Hecate’s lips quirked up in spite of herself, and Pippa smiled ruefully back.

‘Probably not, no. But I’ll get my partner on it.’ She walked to the door and turned the handle; turned her head to get one last, searching look at Hecate. Her face was paler and more inscrutable than ever.

‘Goodbye, Hecate.’

‘Goodbye, Pippa.’

And on the other side of Hecate’s front door, it really did feel like goodbye.

* * *

As Pippa strode quickly through the London streets that led to Euston, her suitcase slipping and sliding behind her on the frozen ground and her ankle beginning to protest at her overhasty overreliance on it, the ordinariness of London seemed almost incredible after two days with Hecate Hardbroom. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself, pulling her phone from her pocket and wishing more than anything that it would ring, and Hecate would tell her that she had made a mistake. But there was nothing – nothing, that was, except for a few dozen missed calls from her mother. Perhaps it was a childish need for comfort, or perhaps a latent, ill-timed streak of masochism, but Pippa found herself pressing her mother’s contact and calling.

Her mother answered on the third ring.

‘Pippa Pentangle, did I raise a heartless monster? To think of my own daughter leaving me on tenterhooks for over twenty-four hours….’

‘Mum, please stop.’ Pippa tried to keep her voice light, but her mother’s tone shifted instantly.

‘Of course. Sorry, darling, you know I was just teasing. How was your Christmas?’

‘Fine.’ Even as she spoke, Pippa knew calling her mother had been a mistake. The lump in her throat was growing, her voice rising in pitching. Tears pricked hot and horrible at her eyes once more, and she attempted to blink them back and assuage her mother at the same time. ‘We had Christmas dinner with her friends; it was really nice.’

‘Oh, lovely.’ Pippa could hear her mother trying to make an effort now, even as her sentences are shaded with what sounded like doubt. ‘What are you up to now?’

‘Coming home.’ Pippa tried to sound brighter – and it was a cheering thought, being back home. Three-hundred miles away from Hecate.

‘Oh, are you Pippa? That’s wonderful – Granny’s still here, and I can ask Phyllis and Penelope round for this evening – we’ll have a little cocktail party, the five of us.’

‘A cocktail party?’ Pippa forced a smile. ‘Sounds great.’

‘We can glam up together, too. Have you worn that sweater dress yet? You know I’ve been dying to see you in it, pet.’

Pippa froze. The memory of her fingers brushing against Hecate’s as they moved her dress up her thighs, the way Hecate had pulled her dress over her head and leant forward to kiss her in the same movement, returned to Pippa with almost unbearable vivacity. She hadn’t noticed where it had landed – she supposed it must still be crumpled in a corner of Hecate’s living room. Despite herself, her breath caught in her throat.

‘Pippa? Are you alright?’ At the sound of her mother’s anxious inquiry, Pippa started and shook herself.

‘Mum, sorry – I have to switch my ticket, I’ll call you back.’

She managed to keep going for a while after she hung up. She got to Euston, negotiated the switching of her ticket with a pleasant enough façade, and even made it onto a mostly deserted carriage before she sat down and began to cry with surprising immediacy, her tears muted and wiped quickly away by a pocket tissue she was able to locate in her coat pocket.

This was alright, Pippa told herself. It was normal to feel blue after being rejected, anyone would. She would have a quick cry early in the morning where there was no one around to see her, put on a bit of make-up and then be ready to greet her mother with a smile, and with Hecate Hardbroom in the furthest recesses of her mind. This was utterly, utterly ordinary.

That was what she told herself, as the train pulled away from the grimy London platform and the grey London rooftops, so full with thoughts of Hecate that she could barely breathe through her tears.


	6. What are you doing New Year's Eve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when I told you to suspend your disbelief? Yeah, at this point you might as well just throw it out the window. Also the character of Avery Heartsong was of course created by the wonderful thispapermoon; I am only borrowing her.
> 
> Many thanks to twtd and nike_sga for the prompt. I am indebted.

Not for the first time in her brief post-Christmas stay with her family, Pippa was curled up on the sofa in her mother’s conservatory, huddled in blankets and looking out at where it was sleeting miserably outside, grey sludge pooling around the house. The sky had been so dark and swollen with incoming rain during the day that it seemed to hardly make a difference that it was now evening, with the precipitation so rapid that the world could be seen only through semi-permanent blurry filter. That same blur seemed to have infiltrated Pippa’s thoughts as she gazed out of the window, trying to think of anything or anyone other than Hecate Hardbroom.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t had a good time. In the frenzy of the preceding months, Pippa hadn’t realised quite how much she missed her family. Even her little cousins seemed marginally less annoying than they had done the previous Christmas – although she was glad when the more extended parts of her extended family ended their stay. And whilst in the fray of helping her mother cook large meals, or negotiating the Boxing Day Sales, or listening to another of her granny’s long sagas about the bins, she was perfectly content. But in the short stretches of time she had found herself without activity, she had been drifting, listless. Unhappy.

Which was ridiculous. She had no right to be unhappy. Her bakery was doing well, she was on a well-earned holiday – and at the crux of it, Hecate had been right. They had spent a wonderful few days together, even if it wasn’t going to progress into anything else. It had been irrational to feel upset five days ago; it was verging on lunacy to be even more miserable five days on from Hecate’s rejection. 

But she was. Miserable. So miserable that the thought of going back to London – of reoccupying her old life and carrying on as though nothing had happened – seemed too dreadful to contemplate. And it was not the fact of being rejected. She had enough self-awareness to admit that to herself; embarrassment and humiliation she could have dealt with easily, she was a grown woman. But the alternative…

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Pippa looked around, startled. Her mum was standing behind her, her expression for once unreadable. Almost gently, she pushed a cup of tea into Pippa’s hands.

‘Oh.’ Pippa stared down at it, concentrated on the warmth in an attempt to reorient herself in her surroundings. ‘I wasn’t really thinking about anything.’ Her mum sighed, but seemed to decide against pressing further, instead taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

‘So, what’s the plan for this evening?’

‘I thought we’d go traditional. Champagne, three different kinds of dessert, and watching films in our pyjamas?’

‘Sounds perfect.’

Pippa smiled in spite of herself. In stark contrast to her mother’s idea of what made a good Christmas, their New Year’s Eves had been spent in blissful solitude since Pippa had given up going to awful New Year’s parties in the City and her last awful girlfriend had ended things. She leant her head on her mum’s shoulder.

‘What do you want to watch?’

‘Oh, we have many options. Nora Ephron, Nancy Meyers – Richard Curtis if we have to…’

‘Does it have to be a rom com?’ Her mother frowned.

‘We always watch rom coms on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Exactly.’ Pippa took a sip of tea, bringing the mug up to hide her face. ‘Let’s change it up. Bring in the new year with a horror film.’

Her mother’s frown deepened, and Pippa found herself unable to look her directly in the eye.

‘You love rom coms.’ Her mother said eventually. Pippa shrugged.

‘Don’t know. I guess I’m sick of them.’ Her mother gave her another inscrutable glance, before clasping Pippa’s hand and bringing it onto her lap.

‘You’ve been very quiet, moppet. I wish you would tell me what’s up.’

‘Nothing’s up.’ Pippa flashed her mum a small, tense smile. ‘Just tired.’ Her mother tutted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

‘You’ve always been a terrible liar. Ever since you were small. And you’ve certainly never been one to hide how you are feeling.’

‘I’m not.’ Pippa replied, too quickly. At the look on her mother’s face, she relented. ‘It’s fine, honestly. I’m just being mopey; I’ll get over it.’

‘It?’ Her mum asked, quietly, ‘Or her?’ Pippa opened her mouth to attempt a denial, but tell-tale tears sprang to her eyes before she could get one out. It seemed that her mum was right; it would be no good lying.

‘I don’t know, Mum.’ Pippa wiped at her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, furious with herself. ‘I feel ridiculous. I met her a week ago – I stayed with her for two nights. I can’t possibly be missing her.’

‘You’re not ridiculous.’ Her mum opened her arms and Pippa buried her face in her shoulder. ‘Well, maybe you’re a little ridiculous. Oh, my love, I did try to tell you.’

‘Yeah, well, you don’t need to rub it in.’ Pippa sniffed. ‘Anyway, it’s not like I can see her anytime soon. She probably hasn’t given me a second thought.’ She pulled back, scrabbling in her pocket for a tissue and blowing her nose.

Her mum was silent. When Pippa looked up, red eyed, her mother was chewing her lip, as if making a tricky decision.

‘What?’ She asked. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I – just…’ Her mother huffed. ‘I wanted you to see it for yourself. I thought for sure you would see it doing the crossword this morning.’ Pippa blinked.

‘Mum?’

Her mother crossed the room and picked up a copy of _The Observer_. ‘Page fourteen. You know darling, you could have told me that your mystery lady was _Joy Constance_.’

‘What?’ Pippa took the paper, flicking through with a pounding heart until she got to page fourteen.

**_Perfection at Pentangle’s_.**

_In her first piece of published writing since ‘Mists of Thyme’_, _Joy Constance begins a new column for the Observer on finding meaning in food. _

_“I have never had much of a sweet tooth. Readers who have followed my work may be surprised by this – I have never failed to include recipes for desserts and puddings in my collections, and am on the record regarding the pleasures of a single square of dark chocolate after dinner, or of sinking one’s teeth into a segment of a Seville orange. _

_Privately, however, I have always thought sweets frivolous at best, and an expensive indulgence at worst. I had no Proustian memories of dipping cake into tea, (a disgusting habit, for my money,) having been brought up in a house where even birthday cakes were considered an extravagance. When I discovered cooking as a teenager, it was flavour I pursued. What craft, what alchemy could render simple ingredients into perfection, I wondered. I was convinced that I could find my way to the perfect dish through the same method of experimentation that I practised for my Chemistry dissertation. And I had success. So much success that it appeared there were others who wanted to hear my methods, to cook as I did. And so, I duly supplied them, as meticulously set out and referenced as my dissertation had been._

_And then last year, I lost all interest in and enthusiasm for food. I would buy ingredients, cook to my usual standard, but it was as though my taste-buds had been numbed. I would give my bemused neighbours large Tupperwares of meals that would otherwise sit unwanted in my fridge. Eventually this translated into a loss of interest in cooking, and before I knew it, I had almost given up on food altogether. A small part of me watched in horror as my truest passion seemed to slip through my fingers like salt; but there was no experiment, no imagined combination of flavours that could tempt me back into the kitchen._

_And then one day, there was a knock at my door. It was my neighbour’s noisy little daughter, who promptly invited herself into my kitchen and presented me with an apricot and pistachio tart she had taken it into her head to purchase for me from a local bakery that had opened that week: ‘Pentangle’s.’ Whilst I had half a mind to show her the door, at her wheedling I took a fork and tried it._

_Making an apricot tart in England is a difficult business – the apricots are more likely than not to be cloying and rubbery, the pastry ruined by juice that imparts little flavour. And yet when I took that bite there was sweetness, and sharpness, and an innate understanding of the contrast of textures needed for a fruit tart. But it was more than that. I felt as though I understood instantly what the baker was attempting to communicate. I tried the tart in North London with a five-year-old, and yet I could have been lounging in a garden in the south of France; a hot Mediterranean sun sinking lower in the sky. _

_From then on, when babysitting my neighbour’s daughter, she would bring a baked good for the two of us to share. (Or rather, I would have a single bite, and she would eat the rest.) Hazelnut and coffee profiteroles. A slice of orange and rosemary loaf cake. Earl grey macarons. And though I remained dispossessed of a sweet tooth, the joy the baker clearly found in experimenting with taste and texture was so palpable that I felt my own passion for flavour begin to stir once more. I began to venture out again to markets, to cook some of my old, familiar recipes, began to teach some of the easier ones to the little girl. It was as if I were returning to a foreign language after a long period away – I made mistakes, I stuttered and stumbled. But I got better again, and then perhaps I got even better than I had been before. _

_I refused to venture into the bakery myself, however. My neighbour berated my stubbornness, but somehow, I thought that were I to meet the woman behind these creations they would lose their sheen, the magic of their taste and the brilliance of their invention would be diminished. Perhaps it was more than that, even. I think now that I was afraid that the perfectly crafted spell Pippa Pentangle appeared to have baked into her pastries would somehow break upon my touch, and what little life I had found again through her food would die along with it._

_And here we come to my great mistake; my lack of understanding of my own craft. Because food is not chemistry. I am not a great cook because of ratios, or equations, or mathematical principles. Whatever I have achieved as a cook has been because of love. Because of passion, and care, and emotions that I dismissed stupidly as unimportant to the pursuit of taste. And there is no one who embodies this philosophy more than Pippa Pentangle. Pippa Pentangle who kneads her own happiness into her dough, whose cakes and pastries bloom and swell with the strength of her feeling. Who watches for the smiles and comments of her customers and friends trying her bakes, not only for her own pride but for the joy that feeding them brings her; who knows more than anyone the importance of taking time and taking pleasure in the delights of sweet things._

_I met her on Christmas eve, almost by accident. We sat and ate orange and almond muffins, fresh out of the oven. I took a bite, and then another, and another. I marvelled at her skill. I thought for the first time in a long time of my mother, who had delighted in orange cakes. Who grew ever more unhappy and distant, and died trapped in the confines of her own life. I thought of how close I had come to repeating her fate._

_There is no recipe to accompany this week’s column – only a wholehearted recommendation to go to Pentangle’s and taste the food for yourself. As for me, I still don’t have much of a sweet tooth. But perhaps, with help, I might learn to have one. I would like to try, anyway.”_

Pippa looked up at her mother.

‘I…’ She began, tears smarting at her eyes and spilling down on to her cheeks. ‘I…’ Her mother smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead.

‘I know, Pip.’

‘I have to see her.’ Pippa got to her feet, half in a daze. ‘I have to.’ But then she stopped in realisation, shaking her head. ‘I mean – I’m sorry mum, I wasn’t thinking. It’s fine, I can get the train back tomorrow...’

‘Philippa Pentangle.’ Her mother said firmly, in a voice Pippa recognised well from her rebellious teenage years. ‘If you don’t get yourself to Euston and tell that woman how you feel this instant, I shall never speak to you again.’

* * *

‘I need to change my ticket. It’s for the two o’clock tomorrow; I have to be on a train that gets into Euston this evening.’ Pippa was leant forward at the ticket office, her knuckles white as she clutched at the desk.

The woman on the other side didn’t bother sitting up in her chair, her eyes looking Pippa up and down in slow contempt as she twirled a strand of red hair around her finger.

‘No exchanges, no refunds.’

‘Fine.’ Pippa opened her wallet impatiently. ‘I’ll buy another one, for the next train.’ The woman shrugged her shoulders. Her voice had a low screech to it that set Pippa’s teeth on edge, as though someone had put metal filings in a blender.

‘Northern Trains run a limited service on New Year’s Eve, and the train leaving at seven thirty pm is the last one. And it’s full. Apologies for any inconvenience.’

‘It can’t be.’ Pippa leant even closer, desperate. ‘I don’t need a seat, I’ll happily stand - or sit on the floor.’ The woman looked at her in outrage, drawing herself up to her full height.

‘Madam, Northern Trains uphold the highest health and safety standards, and cannot overbook their trains without serious risk to…’

‘Alright, alright!’ Pippa groaned, bringing a hand up to her face. ‘Thanks.’ She turned away, her eyes filling with bitter disappointment. She ducked her head, moving blindly through the crowded station. It was fine; she could easily spend New Year’s Eve with her mother and go back to London tomorrow – whatever romantic declaration she wanted to make to Hecate would last beyond New Year’s Eve. But the thread that had wrapped itself around her heart and stretched all the way from London to Manchester was tugging painfully, and Pippa was so distracted that she didn’t see what was in front of her until…

‘Ooft!’

She collided painfully with another woman, elbows and heads banging. She winced.

‘I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ She apologised. Her victim waved her off cheerfully. She was a short woman in her early fifties, her hair platinum and bobbed and styled for the evening. She was evidently headed somewhere fashionable.

‘No harm done.’ She smiled, making as if to go on. Then she stopped, looking closer at Pippa.

‘Is everything alright?’ Pippa flushed with embarrassment, brushing residual tears away from her cheeks.

‘Fine, I’m fine.’ She risked looking up, and was met by a pair of blue eyes sparkling with kind concern behind a pair of glasses. Oddly, Pippa felt compelled to elaborate.

‘It’s honestly nothing.’ She explained, with a self-deprecating half-quirk of her lips. ‘I just really needed to get to London this evening, that’s all. But I can’t get on a train.’

‘Poor you.’ The stranger said sympathetically. ‘Can you get a ticket for tomorrow? I can give you the name of a good hotel.’ Pippa felt her cheeks flame a little.

‘I have a ticket for tomorrow. I just…there’s someone I want to see.’ She flushed deeper, realising how ridiculous she must sound – but the stranger let out an ‘ah’ of realisation.

‘I see.’ She smiled, genuinely. ‘How romantic.’

‘Hurry up, Ada.’ Pippa looked at the source of the order, startled as a woman without spectacles and with brighter lipstick but otherwise identical to the woman she was speaking to approached them impatiently. ‘We have five minutes.’

‘A moment, Agatha.’ The woman – Ada – said firmly. She turned back to Pippa. ‘You really can’t get on?’ Pippa shook her head.

‘It’s fine. I’ll go back to my mum’s and get the train tomorrow morning.’

‘Ada, hurry _up_.’ Agatha snapped, shooting Pippa a glare of dislike. But Ada was unmoved. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out her own ticket.

‘Here. I’m supposed to be going to a party, but I think on reflection I would rather not leave my mother alone on New Year’s Eve. Let’s swap.’

‘Oh no – I couldn’t possibly…’

‘No, she couldn’t.’ Agatha agreed, clearly annoyed. ‘Ada, we agreed. Mother is fine.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous Agatha.’ Ada waved a dismissive hand. ‘You wouldn’t have spent more than ten minutes with me at Amethyst’s; you’ll have a much better time without me.’ She turned back to Pippa. ‘Here, I insist. You’ve swung it for me, I’m going home, you may as well have my ticket.’

Agatha made a disgusted noise, not bothering to say goodbye to either as she stormed off in the direction of Platform Eight. Pippa looked around her for words, feeling that surely she ought to put up more of a fight before accepting this - but something about the determined set of Ada’s mouth told her she was not about to take ‘no’ for an answer. She opened up her bag and pulled out her ticket.

‘I – I can’t even begin to thank you enough…’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Ada smiled. ‘And don’t be late, the train leaves in three minutes. Good luck…?’

‘Pippa. Pippa Pentangle – honestly, thank you…’

‘Pippa Pentangle?’ The older woman’s eyes briefly widened with shock. ‘Pippa Pentangle?’

‘Yes?’ Pippa replied uncertainly, wondering if her identity voided their agreement for some reason. But Ada appeared to recover quickly from whatever had surprised her so.

‘Well don’t just stand there – go! Run, or you’ll miss the train.’ Moderately alarmed by the sudden change in tone, but without the time to think upon or question it, Pippa nodded, grabbed her suitcase and sprinted towards the platform, not daring to stop and look over her shoulder.

Of course, the train leaving Manchester Piccadilly at five o’clock was not the fast, or even the semi-fast train. Pippa was sat with her suitcase, forced to stare out of the window as the train pulled into Macclesfield and Stoke and Stafford. By the time the train got to Birmingham, and the Guard announced they would have to wait for a change of driver, she was barely resisting the urge to get up and pace up and down the train corridor. More frustratingly, despite the fact that the length of the journey should have given her ample time to figure out exactly what she wanted to communicate to Hecate, each time her mind wandered over to what she would say, she drew a terrifying blank. And as the hours drew on, her courage began to desert her. It had been one thing being let down gently by Hecate on her bed. If she had been given fresh hope only to then be rejected again… she imagined the derisive crease of Hecate’s eyebrows, the reluctant pursing of her lips. She wasn’t sure her heart could take it.

The train was dawdling hopelessly at Milton Keynes, the Guard repeatedly apologising over the tannoy as they tried to clear whatever it was that had accumulated on the line, and Pippa drummed her feet against the floor, checking the time over and over. She would have to run if she were to have any chance of catching Hecate before midnight. And she knew, she _knew _that there was no point to it, that it would make no difference if whatever she came up with to say to Hecate was said at ten to twelve or ten past, but she had come too far to let Hecate go into the New Year thinking that Pippa hadn’t understood what she meant in her article.

_The next station is: London Euston._

Pippa jumped, startled from her reverie. She checked her phone. Almost half eleven, and they were fifteen minutes away from Euston. She would _really _have to run.

Even as the train pulled up to the platform, it seemed to inch forward, juddering and screeching on the tracks, hanging suspended in motion for horrible, endless seconds before finally the doors released and Pippa, who had been pressing the ‘doors open’ button for the last minute, was able to jump off the train and run through the ticket barrier, pulling her suitcase behind her.

She ran, she ran through Euston Square and past the Hospital and the University and the Students’ Café. She ran through Gordon Square Gardens and Tavistock Square Gardens and then Russell Square Gardens; past the British Museum and through winding Victorian streets and past her own bakery until finally, _finally_, she was standing outside the bookshop, panting for breath, her heart thudding sickeningly against her chest.

It was pitch black inside. Pippa tried the handle. Locked. She tried knocking at the door, marvelling at how she could have got all the way to London without considering the possibility that Hecate might not be in – might be asleep, even.

But just as she was considering camping out on the doorstep, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

‘Can I help you?’

She turned around.

Hecate’s dark eyes were confused, and then blown wide in shock, her mouth falling gently open as the colour seemed to drain away from her face. She looked Pippa up and down as though she doubted the fact of her existence. Pippa offered her a sheepish smile.

‘Hey.’

‘Pippa?’ She whispered, moving closer almost involuntarily, until they were less than a metre apart. Then she stopped, as if coming to her senses. ‘I – I thought you were coming back tomorrow.’ Pippa felt her face flush red.

‘I know.’ She fought valiantly through her embarrassment. ‘I missed you.’ Hecate looked up, shock showing on her face. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid – I know that it was only a week, and we had only just met each other, but somehow despite all of that I managed to miss you. Can you believe it?’ She laughed wetly, sniffing and brushing at her eyes. ‘And so there I was today, missing you, and then I read your column, and… and suddenly I knew I had to see you.’ She paused, trying to gauge Hecate’s expression. The other woman’s face was white, her lips moving soundlessly as she struggled for words.

This time, Pippa waited.

‘I missed you too.’ Pippa let out a small, choked noise at the admission. ‘I tried to pretend it wasn’t you, that I was just miserable – but it wasn’t that. It was that I was miserable without you. I missed you as soon as you left my flat.’ Pippa stepped closer, reaching for Hecate’s hand with her own.

‘Then why didn’t you call?’

‘Because I’m a coward.’ Hecate made an exasperated sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. ‘And because – I meant what I wrote, in the article. I don’t know what I’m doing. As in I really don’t, I really, really don’t have a clue. I mean, for God’s sake,’ tears which had been threatening their descent finally slipped down Hecate’s cheeks ‘I have been in one relationship that began when I was twenty years old and lasted twelve years and took every last ounce of happiness and self-worth that I had. I don’t know how to do _any _of this. I – I don’t know if I can.’ Hecate’s voice cracked, and she bent her head. Pippa felt her heart grow several sizes until it seemed to press painfully against her chest; she let go of her suitcase and stepped forward, pressing her forehead to Hecate’s and rubbing her hand soothingly up and down the back of her neck.

‘I know.’ She whispered, pressing a fleeting kiss where a tear lay suspended on Hecate’s cheekbone. ‘I know that it’s frightening. I was frightened too – I still am. But I want to try. I want to try with you, Hecate.’ Hecate gave a small gasp of a sob, and Pippa drew her even closer, fighting back tears of her own. ‘I know I said that Christmas was like a spell – but why should it be? Why shouldn’t we just throw ourselves into something mad and reckless and romantic, and not worry about dating, and stages, and what other people think? Why shouldn’t we be honest with ourselves about what we want and not waste time worrying about things that are less important?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I think you want me. I think we were happy, those two days we were together, happier than either of us have been in a long time. And that’s all I want; for us to try being happy, together. It doesn’t matter how we do it, because I want whatever you feel ready for. But all of me that you want, you have. I promise.’

Pippa drew her head back, trying to see Hecate’s face once more – and then Hecate’s hands were cupping her face, and her lips were on Pippa’s own, soft and sweet and frantic and passionate. Pippa gasped in relief, her arms tight around Hecate’s neck as she kissed her back, matching Hecate’s fervour with her own.

Somewhere far in the background, Pippa heard a clock chime, heard the sharp whistle and then fizzing explosion of fireworks and the cheers that followed them. But she didn’t break away until she felt something settling on her hair, light as a caress.

She looked up. Snow was falling, delicate flakes descending slow and dreamlike through the air; she looked across at Hecate and saw them settle on Hecate’s hair and shoulders like a dusting of icing sugar. Saw her own incredulity reflected in Hecate’s expression, and then Pippa couldn’t help it. She began to giggle, laughter bubbling low inside her until she was forced to lean against the bookshop wall for support.

‘It’s snowing.’ Hecate’s eyebrows were still raised in disbelief, and even as she bit her lip to suppress her smile, her laughter broke the dam until she was almost as helpless as Pippa. ‘It’s snowing for the first time since Christmas Day, at midnight on New Year’s Eve. How is that possible?’ She moved closer, brushed snow from Pippa’s hair with a hand that settled to cradle her cheek, and Pippa melted, bringing her arms around Hecate’s waist and looking up at her with eyes full and bright with tenderness.

‘Let’s not question it.’ She said eventually. ‘I don’t care about the snow, or midnight, or New Year’s Eve. I don’t care that we seem to have fallen headfirst into a romance novel. Let’s go upstairs and get warm, and not think about anything else but each other.’

Hecate exhaled shakily, but nodded, bringing her head to rest against Pippa’s for a last brief moment. And then she reached for Pippa’s hand, their fingers tangling together as with her other hand she lifted the latch, pushed the door to the bookshop open, and led them inside.

* * *

_The Next Christmas Eve._

‘Eurgh.’

Pippa wrinkled her nose as she wiped down the espresso machine with a damp cloth, watching the crust of stale coffee that had coagulated on the surface break apart and fall to the floor, brown stains receding into the shine of the stainless steel. ‘I hate this bit. Remind me why I sent Zach and Sapphire home early again?’

‘Because you’re a softie.’ Avery, her business partner and long-time long-suffering friend, pointed out. She was sitting on the barstool opposite Pippa, doing their accounts with one hand and tuning the radio with the other, her long ponytail swishing behind her as she turned the pages of their ledger.

‘Still.’ Pippa grumbled, pulling out the filter and throwing it into the sink, shuddering slightly as she reached into the machine to clean inside. ‘I would rather be sitting where you are, doing maths, than cleaning this. And that is saying something.’ She leant back, looking at the clock. ‘We’ll never be out by five at this rate.’

‘I’m sorry, is that Pippa Pentangle talking? The Pippa Pentangle who used to beg me to keep the shop open later because she was sure she could entice just a few more customers?’

‘It’s Christmas Eve.’ Pippa protested. ‘Of course I want to be home.’

‘Come off it.’ Avery put down her pen, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Last year you insisted on staying open till seven, and did the clean-up and the accounts single-handed when I was home with flu.’

‘Your point being?’

‘Last year the bakery was your one true love, and you were blind to its flaws. Rhapsodising about seeing the Christmas lights reflected off the coffee machine. Now…’ She shook her head mournfully. ‘Now you would rather be curled up in front of the fire with your girlfriend than sweeping coffee grounds off the floor with me.’ 

Pippa smiled to herself over the washing-up sink.

‘We’re driving up to my mum’s this evening.’ She said by way of reply, as she began to scrub at machine parts with vigour. ‘Don’t want to get there too late.’ Avery grinned.

‘Brave woman, Hecate. I still remember the interrogation I got from your aunts that Christmas I spent with you.’ Pippa sighed.

‘My mum promised that she’ll put everyone on their best behaviour.’ She didn’t add that she had also extracted a promise from her mother that she would tone down her blatant adoration of Hecate a little. Not that Hecate hadn’t appreciated being welcomed so enthusiastically to the family, but Pippa knew that Hecate still found such outwardly potent displays of emotion overwhelming, even if she would never admit to it. ‘Are you going to your in-laws?’

‘No, they’re coming to us. My mother in law made a very loaded promise that she would help me cook Christmas dinner.’ Avery gave a heavy sigh. ‘Honestly. I wish I had a bestselling food writer waiting for me at home.’ At her words, Pippa glanced out of the window. The bookshop was dark, Gwen and Algie having already set off Norwich to see their nephew, but the lights in their flat were on; Hecate was clearly home. She began to scrub harder.

‘There.’ Avery pronounced, closing the ledger. ‘As suspected. Our best month yet.’

‘Wonderful.’ Pippa began to put the parts back in the coffee machine, before sweeping the grounds off the floor. ‘By this time next year, we’ll have three different branches and a cookery book.’

‘Here’s hoping.’ Avery reached for the spray and cloth. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got the rest.’ Pippa stood up, frowning as she deposited coffee grounds into the rubbish bin.

‘Don’t be silly. We still have to wipe the tables and mop the floors, and…’

‘Take the leftovers to the donation point, and then I’ll do the rest. Honestly Pippa, you’ve worked your socks off this last quarter. Go home to your girlfriend and have a wonderful Christmas.’ At the seriousness of Avery’s expression, Pippa’s face bloomed into a smile, hurrying to take off her apron.

‘You’re the best.’ She informed her friend, half running to the store cupboard to put on her coat and hat.

‘See what I mean?’ Avery called back in reply. ‘Last year I would have had to drag you out by your ponytail to make you leave early. This year, barely two half-hearted entreaties. Love has changed you, Pentangle.’

Pippa smiled to herself, wrapped her scarf around her neck and emerged from the store cupboard, pulling a wrapped present from her handbag as she did so.

‘Merry Christmas, Heartsong. And honestly, thanks so…’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Avery grumbled, pulling her own wrapped gift from her bag. ‘Merry Christmas.’ Pippa put the present carefully in her handbag, where the rustle of tissue paper caught Avery’s eye.

‘Who’s that for? I thought we got everything last weekend?’ Avery and Pippa’s annual Christmas shop was as sacred a tradition as a Christmas dinner at this point, and Pippa laughed at her friend’s injured expression.

‘Just a little something for Hecate that I picked up on my lunch break. More of an anniversary gift than a Christmas present.’ She kissed Avery’s cheek, picking up the box of baked goods they had put together. ‘Give my love to everyone at home.’

‘And mine to your mum, and Hecate. Tell her I said: “good luck.”’

It was a foul December evening. Not cold enough to snow, but cold enough for freezing rain to pelt down from the sky, for cab drivers to drive through puddles and drench unsuspecting passers-by in icy water. A fate which was inflicted on Pippa no less than three times on her way home from the donation point – and which she barely noticed. She was too buoyed by the thought of a week with Hecate, of time spent together – first with her family, then just the two of them together in a cottage on the Yorkshire Dales. The thought of her and Hecate, going for walks on the moors, and cooking together, and not having to worry about thin walls and floors, filled her with a happiness so irrepressible that she barely noticed the change in climate as she let herself into the bookshop and took the steps up to their flat two at a time.

Still daydreaming, Pippa pushed open the door, only to be immediately greeted by the smell of braised fish, and sautéed vegetables, and freshly ground spices. Sniffing the air ecstatically, Pippa hung her coat on the rack in the hall and made her way to the kitchen.

It was a sight to behold. Hecate with her head half bent over their stock pot, a spoon in one hand and a teaspoon of ground cumin in the other, wisps of hair escaping her bun and curling about her face in the heat. Grinning foolishly, in much the same lovestruck way she had regarded Hecate Hardbroom that first evening they had spent together in her flat, Pippa leant against the doorframe and watched her girlfriend work. She didn’t see how she could ever tire of this – of coming home and seeing Hecate engrossed in a new recipe, experimenting with flavour and heat, her forehead pursed in a frown of concentration.

‘More oregano, I think.’ Hecate muttered, and turned around to make a note of it on her laptop – only to start at the sight of Pippa.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ She folded her arms across her chest, attempting to look perturbed, but only managing to appear rather pleased at the sight of her hardworking other half.

‘Not too long.’ Pippa sauntered over, wrapping her arms around Hecate and drawing her in for a kiss. Hecate responded with eager affection; thoughts of oregano evidently forgotten as she pulled Pippa closer.

‘Mmm.’ Pippa smiled contentedly up at her other half, arms still looped around her neck. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes.’ Hecate raised her eyes heavenwards.

‘You saw me at lunch.’

‘I missed you.’ Pippa pouted. ‘I want to take you with me wherever I go.’ She tilted her head, regarding Hecate thoughtfully. ‘I ought to shrink you down and put you in my handbag.’

‘Impossible and highly impractical.’ Hecate pointed out, one eye on the slowly caramelising vegetables on their stove. Pippa’s eyes crinkled.

‘Perhaps. After all, it would be a lot harder to do this.’ She pulled Hecate down for another kiss, sighing contentedly as Hecate’s arms came around to anchor her. She pulled away.

‘Good day?’

‘Mmm. I sent Ada that review she’s been harassing me for.’

‘Did she like it?’ Hecate gave a huff of a laugh. She had only taken up the mantle as the newspaper’s restaurant critic in March, but already had a reputation as a fire-breather.

‘She liked it. Told me off for offering too much “constructive criticism”.’

‘Was it the bit where you compared their antipasti to a salad bar in a Pizza Hut?’

‘It may have been.’ Hecate acknowledged; her brow creased. ‘I’ll admit I didn’t exactly hold back.’

‘You don’t say.’ Pippa laughed. ‘And to think you were in such a good mood last week.’ Hecate smiled, taking Pippa’s hand and bringing it to her lips. Her eyes fell on Pippa’s ring finger.

‘Have you told your mum?’

Pippa followed her gaze downwards.

‘Not yet.’ She replied, softly. ‘There was no ring there. Their engagement had not exactly been planned; there had been no elaborate proposal. Only last Sunday they had been clearing up after their Christmas dinner party with their friends, Hecate washing up and Pippa drying the dishes with a tea towel. Pippa had been alternating singing along to the radio under her breath with sneaking spoonfuls of the leftover Christmas trifle she had made, and hadn’t noticed Hecate pausing to watch her until her girlfriend had snaked soapy arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, _let’s get married. _

‘We’ll tell her this evening.’ Pippa decided. ‘And tell everyone else in the New Year, when we get back.’ She kissed Hecate again, lightly. ‘What time are we setting off?’

‘Six o’clock. We’re all packed, and dinner will be ready in half an hour.’ Pippa checked her watch.

‘Wonderful.’ She smiled up at Hecate, stepping back and making to put the kettle on. ‘So, that gives us half an hour.’

‘Half an hour.’ Hecate murmured, returning to the stove and turning the heat off underneath the vegetables with a hint of colour in her cheeks. ‘Whatever shall we do with it?’

‘I have a few ideas.’ Pippa replied, innocently. But when Hecate’s eyes darkened, and she began to slink predatorily in Pippa’s direction, Pippa skipped out of the kitchen, running to their living room – which after almost a year of Pippa’s influence now had throws and embroidered cushions on the sofa, and framed photographs above the gas fire, and a lampshade which cast a pleasant glow over the room. And as of last weekend, after a lot of cajoling, a Christmas tree, and fairy lights.

‘Pippa Pentangle.’ She heard Hecate call from their hallway. ‘Don’t play games with me.’ Pippa smiled to herself at the sound of Hecate’s approach, soft and stealthy and utterly seductive. But she had something else in mind. Kneeling in front of their record player, she rifled through her tote bag until she found what she was looking for and slipped it out of its sleeve and under the needle.

Soft piano chords filled the room, and Pippa heard Hecate pause behind her. Pippa got to her feet, turning around and gauging the other woman’s reaction.

Hecate’s eyes softened, a tender smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

‘Soppy.’ She informed Pippa, who grinned in reply.

‘Oh, absolutely.’ Stepping closer, she wrapped one arm around Hecate’s waist and entwined their free hands, turning her face up to her fiancée’s and seeing all her own love and fondness and affection reflected back at her. They began to move together, slow and swaying, and Pippa rested her cheek on Hecate’s shoulder contentedly.

_‘Maybe it’s much too early in the game,_

_Oh but I thought I’d ask you just the same,_

_What are you doing New Year’s, New Year’s Eve?’_

‘I could feel you watching me, when you sang this.’ Pippa could feel Hecate’s murmur vibrate against her cheek. ‘It’s a wonder I got any of the notes out in any sort of order.’

‘Mmm.’ Pippa pressed a kiss to her shoulder. ‘I did look fantastic in that dress.’

‘You were driving me mad all day.’ Hecate’s arm tightened around her waist. ‘During that chess game, in the kitchen, during dinner - _especially _during dinner. You were all I could think about.’

Pippa lifted her head, and Hecate’s mouth was soft as velvet against her ear. ‘You’re still all I can think about.’ Hecate kissed the side of her head. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you. I’ve loved you since you kissed me under that mistletoe.’

‘Since you serenaded me after Christmas dinner.’

‘Since I beat you at chess for the first time.’

‘Since you _assaulted_ me after I surrendered that game in total compliance with…’ Pippa didn’t let her finish. Their mouths met; they kissed, seconds melting into each other with the brush of their lips and the swell of the music.

_‘Oh, but in case I stand one little chance,_

_Here comes the jackpot question in advance:_

_What are you doing, New Years? New Year’s Eve?_

_What are you doing, New Year’s? New Year’s Eve?’_

Pippa leant back, her face still millimetres from Hecate’s own.

‘So, what do you say?’ Her voice was low, teasing. ‘Is it a date, this New Year’s Eve? Or are you going to make me travel nearly three-hundred miles across the country to ask you out again?’

‘That depends.’ Hecate grumbled. ‘Are you going to force-feed me dessert and romantic comedies? Because if so…’

‘Hecate.’

Pippa moved her head until they were cheek to cheek, and she could feel the flutter of Hecate’s eyelashes and the whisper of her breath against her skin as she spoke again, suddenly quiet and sincere.

‘This New Year’s, and next New Year’s, and every New Year’s after that for the rest of my life.’

Pippa thought that her smile might burst the sides of her cheeks. Her head returned to rest on Hecate's shoulder; she breathed in Hecate's scent as they moved together, the wind howling outside and the rain turning into sleet as it battered the windows.

The two of them danced in their living room, warm, not caring at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read this and stuck with it, even with my terrible, intermittent updating schedule. I've loved reading all of your comments - if you have ever enjoyed this fic at any point, it would be lovely to hear from you. But above all, I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The snow is snowing and the wind is blowing (but I can weather the storm) [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743306) by [twtd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twtd/pseuds/twtd)


End file.
